


The Belmont and the Beast

by FixedWithBrokenParts



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: AU, Angst, Beauty and the Beast? AU?, Canon Divergence, Curses, M/M, No stockholm syndrome i swear, Trust me there will be shameless smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FixedWithBrokenParts/pseuds/FixedWithBrokenParts
Summary: Trevor Belmont is led to a suspicious castle in search of a lost villager, and when he is subsequently imprisoned to free the man he quickly learns that he is not the only prisoner of Dracula's castle.
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont, Alucard/Trevor, Dracula/Lisa (Castlevania)
Comments: 87
Kudos: 280





	1. Spiders and Flies

**Author's Note:**

> I know i have another fic i'm working on but wow, i could not get this out of my head

"You say there's a beast, eh?"

The worn villager nodded, cheeks dusted with dirt and eyes so worn, "North there." The man had a voice that was all struggle, heavy and haggard just as he, "Lives in that ol' castle top the hill."

Trevor pinched his brows, fingers drumming alongside his mug, "Castle you said? Ever seen this _castle_?" By all intents and purposes, this villager may think whatever structure on that hill was a castle, but in reality just had a staggering three stories. He was no stranger to old wive’s tales blown out of proportion by time and theatrics.

"Not with my two eyes, hunter. But me niece has. Lost her brother up there not two weeks ago."

"The beast took him," muttered the Belmont with his beer mug to his lips. The old man nodded, and it prompted Trevor to ask, "So what of this beast then? Terrible monster, talons as sharp as knives and teeth as large as swords?"

The man shook his head, holding his threadbare cloak even closer to his frail form, the deep trenches on his face were further hollowed by the flickering candlelight at their table. "No, not any like that. He looks man, but murderous in every kind."

"Ah," _vampire._

Trevor finished his ale, not too proudly slamming it on the tabletop. It's not like anyone could hear it over the horrendous bard in the tavern. It was just like any village, nothing special and probably full of monsters hiding beneath their noses. Or on top of hills. "You said the man was taken two weeks ago?"

"Yes," nodded the man weakly, fear glimmering in watery eyes. "You heading up there? Must think he's alive then?"

As hopeful as the villager sounded, Trevor shook his head. "'m not a promising man, if the beast is what you say it is then there might be a chance he's killing him slowly." And the light died from the man's beaten stare, forcing Trevor to add, "I'll bring the body back, you have my word on it. Now where's your niece?"

The man turned around to point at the bar across the room, "Her name's Rosaly, the barmaid." Trevor had begun making his way towards the woman when the man caught his wrist, desperate eyes staring up at him pitifully, "Please. I know she hadn't slept since he's been gone, bring him back for us."

Trevor swallowed the lump in his throat, carefully removing his hand from the withered hands of the villager. "I already said, I’m not in the business of promises." 

Rosaly had sad eyes, and a dark complexion that wasn't native to Wallachia. Those sad eyes failed to brighten with her polite smile that she must have to give all the guests at the tavern. "More ale for you, sir?"

Trevor flipped a coin her way, "The strongest please." The woman nodded, turning to pour him a mug, "You know I heard of your brother."

Chocolate eyes narrowed at him as she pushed his pint his way, "Yea, so has everyone from here to Lupu. Not much help with flirtin if you're here to offer more condolences." Any polite demeanor was quickly shut out.

Trecor admired her spirit, even though he knew it came from pain. He shook his head, once again thrumming his fingers on the mug. "You've got no reason to worry, I'm here for the beast."

There was no hush over the tavern, but silence grew between him and Rosaly. She pursed her lips, eyes darting from him to the many patrons, as if she was expecting someone to listen in. The woman lent over the bar to whisper, "There ain't no coin, if that's what you're after. I know he's dead by now. Now make your way hunter, and get out of this bar."

Trevor raised his hands, universal sign that he was in no mood to fight, "I'm not here for payment. I just need you to lead me to the castle."

Rosaly scoffed, whiping dirty mugs down with the trough of soapy water beneath the counter. "Hunter's got a death wish then? This ain't no wolf eatin' Mr. Dolly's sheep. You've got no idea."

Trevor crossed his arms over the bar, sipping at his drink. He didn't need her to lead him there exactly, it was north on a hill. Not many ways he could screw that up, but then again, the Belmont had developed the refined skill of screwing up so perhaps a guide would be nice. He tilted his head at the woman, dark freckles splotched over her round cheeks, and asked, "What were the two of you doing up there anyway then?" 

"My brother, he's… _was_ , a lunatic adventurer. Had dreams of sailing home like some pirate. Didn't do well in a small town." Her eyes lost focus, hands ceased to clean as she spoke quietly. "No one thought the castle was real, just a story…Grant just wanted an adventure." Rosaly slammed down the mug, "I ain't taken you up there. There's wolves 'round the gates and a monster within them. My mother's already lost one babe to that place."

She didn't speak to him after that, barely even took the time to glare at him. Trevor knew when he was cut off, and apparently that meant conversation and tab. He knocked two more coins her way for his earlier drinks, and finished his current one before heading out into the night. 

It wasn't nice, but the majority of winter had passed and this was just the last painful death throes of the season. Trevor pulled his cloak closer, the wolf fur brushing his cheeks and keeping the bitter wind from hitting chapped lips. He wasn't all too thrilled with the idea of paying for an inn with so little night actually left. So towards the trees he went, to bury himself between roots, and convince his body to rest.

The tree-fashioned bed was not too fond of ergonomics, Trevor's back infernally sore when he woke. The Belmont twisted until it cracked but it still left a dull throb when he stood. He squinted at the sun, guessing where north could possibly be and just got to walking. No one had told him how far away the castle actually was, and he could be hiking for days before he reached anything. Fortunately the climb was getting steeper soon, the sun visible through bare forest canopies trudging surely left. His back left him grunting whenever he bent down to inspect small trinkets left in the dirt, wondering if Grant or Rosaly had dropped them in their travels here. Trevor knew he was on the right path when an old wagon trail began curving up the small mountain. Bone shards were scattered off in the trees, slash marks and paw prints of wolves. The Belmont kept watch over his back, not a fan of tangoing with packs alone. It was still light outside when he reached the gates.

Twisted iron curled far above him, black stone encased with dead vines. And through the iron bars he could see the castle. And it was very much a _castle_. Large unusual architecture with stone just as black, reaching so high it's spires could have pierced clouds. It was enormous, wide steps to immaculate doors left Trevor to only wonder what the inside of the palace may look like.

There was a rustling down the hill behind him, Trevor's eyes narrowed at the empty wood with his hand resting on his whip. The heart in his chest was beginning to thunder, and he pushed the gate open without taking his eye off the forest, knowing full well something was staring back at him too. He slammed the gate shut, huffing at the dead bushes and whatever lurked in them, he had a vampire to hunt. 

The yard was a ruin, a garden overrun and unkempt. Snow lilies blossomed in wide patches between old spires that stuck haphazardly from the ground. The pathway was loosely cobbled, roses that were hidden for the winter were climbing up old arbors. Trevor kept a hand on his whip and the other poised with a throwing knave, luckily it was daylight and he'd most likely be sneaking in on a sleeping vampire. But one could never be too careful, especially when climbing the steps to a vampire's home. 

Trevor titled his head at the door, wondering absently if he should knock like a polite little nobleman. The Belmont chuckled at his own idea, testing the door. Just like the gate, it gave no resistance when opening. It was definitely strange, for a creature to just allow things in but Trevor couldn't help but harken it to a spider, with webs that never had locks. 

That made him the fly, sneaking into the looming castle. Blue torches flickered on the wall, but peering closer to them Trevor observed that they weren't not lit by flame. "The hell have I gotten myself into," muttered the lone man in the grand entrance.

"HELLLP!!!" 

The scream came from deep within the castle, Trevor springing into action and running higher up the stairs. It was a desperate, painful cry that echoed off the stone and left him to wonder where the sound was truly starting. At least _someone_ was alive, Grant or no. So higher and higher Trevor went, eyes blind to the paintings or tapestries on the wall and solely focused on the pleas that reverberated through the halls. He was aware that his feet were carrying up one of the man towers, slamming against the stairs to get up as fast as possible.

There were stacks of cells at the top, broken windows letting light spill through, and there lay a man clinging to the bars. It was most certainly Grant, skin tone so similar to Rosaly’s and the same constellation of freckles. The man's eyes lit up when Trever burst from the stairs, "Oh god. You heard me! You heard me!" His voice was hoarse from the screaming, "Lord I saw you approach, god must have sent you."

Trevor huffed inspecting the lock on the cell, "No god, just your uncle." The dying man laughed. His skin was tired but not pale and no marks were visible. "Has he bitten you?" 

Grant gulped, shaking his head, "No. No he hasn't. Said he doesn't bite but tell that to his fucking teeth."

Trevor laughed, attempting to pick the heavy lock with one of his knaves, "If you weren't stupid enough to wander in a vampire's home, you might have been funny, Grant." The man gave a weak laugh as the prison tower was filled with the sound of metal scraping metal in attempt to unlock the cell. The whole place was decrepit, falling apart to the bare structure of the castle. The roof was poorly patched, chill wafting through to nip at his fingers. Trevor was cursing at the lock when Grant suddenly scrambled back in the cell, pointing behind Trevor with a weak cry.

Sure enough a cloaked figure found its way behind him, the Belmont jumping back and drawing his sword. It seemed to only make the creature laugh as it slunk in the shadows.

"Well, well, are you a knight here to save the poor man?" Liquid smooth accent came from the monster with its hood up. It was extremely daring to see a vampire out and about with so much sunlight coming in, Trevor had foolishly thought he'd be safe. 

Whip uncoiled, "Never been called a knight before," he grumbled. "Watch out, it might go to my head."

Trevor dare say the vampire laughed from his shadows, "Ah. No you're just a little hunter. Come to put my head on your wall?"

Grant was trembling in his cell, and Trevor ground his teeth with stress. "Why haven't you fed on him yet?" He called to the beast far across from him. "You one of the ones who likes to play with their food?"

"He stole from me," voice no longer amused. "He's a thief."

"It was a flower!" pleaded the man in the cell, balled up in the corner with fear. 

Trevor tried not to act stunned, but confusion filled his words. "You imprisoned a man over a _flower_?" 

The monster growled a response from the darkness, "It was my property! He shouldn't have been trespassing at all."

The Belmont shook his head, "I'd never thought you'd be so pathetic."

There was a pause, only the draft from the broken windows was heard. The monster stepped closer, still masked by pitch, "And who do you think I am, _hunter_?"

He spoke slow, and Trevor's grip on his short sword wasn't getting any lighter. "There're not many vampires who live in castles around Wallachia anymore, lesser even the ones who have _electric_ torches in them. My family's passed down stories of you and this castle, and you've never captured flower thieves before." Trevor swallowed, "Understand my confusion then, _Dracula._ "

Grant let out a pained whimper at the name, as it had made rounds as horror stories for children for centuries. No one ever thinks they'd meet the beast until he's standing right in front of you. But the cloaked monster waited to draw out his amused chuckle, "And that's who I am to you?"

"Unless you want to come show me your face in the sunlight, you're Vlad Dracula to me and unfortunately for you I have an inherited obligation to kill you now." 

"Mhmm, you want to see me in the light knowing it'll kill me. Am I brazen enough to die for you, hunter?" The monster lurked ever forward, making Trevor instinctively creep back. A leather boot slid into the patch of sunlight between them, soon followed by the whole man who knocked his hood back. 

Trevor nearly let his sword clatter to the floor, as there stood a man proud in the sunlight. Very clearly, _not burning_. He was tall, wide shoulders but lean in frame. Skin the color of Greek marble, with golden-white hair that fell in soft curling tendrils. It was all but the eyes that seemed human, those eyes were the color of fresh molten gold, gleaming even brighter in the sun. "How…"

The man's lips twitched almost triumphantly, "Perhaps not Dracula after all." He turned his attention to Grant in the cell and then back to glaring at Trevor as he slowly left the sun, "Why come save a man you thought was dead?"

He was still stunned in shock, utter confusion at what he could be dealing with now. We're there vampires powerful enough to stand the sun? "I came to kill the creature that took him," he tried to stand a little prouder. "That'll be you, beastie."

The golden man tilted his head, "Do you really think you can? Will you die for your cause, even though no one has been harmed?"

"You locked him up for picking a flower!" 

The man's thin fingers tightened around the cell bar, " _He stole from me!_ " His voice echoed all through the tower, bar bending beneath his grip. And through his angry words the Belmont caught a glimpse of needle sharp fangs. Those teeth were as much justification as Trevor ever needed.

Trevor shifted his foot stance, ready to snap his whip any second, "Today's always a good day to kill a monster." 

"Kill me and you both die," whispered the vampire. "There's a curse on this castle, kill its master and you're not far behind." 

Trevor didn't respond but he didn't let down his weapons, he didn't want Grant to perish either way, but he didn't really mind dying all that much. Living is just the luxury. How much trust could he possibly put in this creature before him? The blond man smiled, "You are a Belmont." Trevor supposed that wasn't too hard to guess. "What other hunter would stroll so confidently into Dracula's lair. But crimes are crimes, and he has to pay his dues."

"I'll fight you for his life then!" Maybe he was just egear to kill the beast, but no one should rot in a cell for something so insignificant as a flower.

The blond raised a sharp brow, "And when you lose?"

" _If_ I lose, then I'll take his place. Bet it'll be much more rewarding to keep a Belmont capture than some village idiot." Grant may have muttered an objection to that but the two people outside his cell ignored it. "But when I win, you won't be imprisoning flower pickers anymore."

The vampire drew a long sword from its sheath, "Very well Belmont, what a talented negotiator you are. A pity you may die." The silver weapon was pointed towards him daringly, "It's been a pleasure to meet you…?"

He knocked the vampire's sword with his own, "Trevor Belmont."

The blond moved with the momentum of his sword spinning out a slash on the narrow stone, Trevor had just enough time to block with his own short blade, the vampire taking time to hiss, "Trevor, then. I hope your family hasn't failed you in combat." To put distance between him and the taunting beast, he snapped his whip out, colliding with the monster's stomach and sending him flying against a cell. 

The blond dented the iron, stumbling to his feet and disappearing in a blink. Trevor barely had enough time to twist around to block the sword behind him, stumbling in surprise. He tried to keep the vampire at bay with the whip, catching a snag of his side or leg to knock him back, but Trevor was near helpless to block the powerful thrust of the man's sword. He'd get a parry in there once or twice, but he couldn't reach anything important if he wanted to stay out of the other man's sword range. More than once it caught a scrape of skin.

The cold air quickly became insufferably warm for him as he fought in winter clothes; breeze from the broken tower now refreshing to the sweat on his forehead. Trevor blocked a swipe, but the blond took the static time to kick him square in the chest. He flew back, sliding on untable stone with no breath in his lungs. The Belmont didn't stay long, hacking in the floor, because the man was two steps away with those spider legs of his. Trevor scrambled to his feet just in time to duck a slash of a sword. He let out a feeble snap of his whip, wrapping it around the vampire's thin ankle. Trevor had no space or momentum to throw him anywhere, garnering a smug sneer from the man. 

God he hated that face, so Trevor yanked with all his power, dragging the man from his feet. In an unfortunate turn of events the man levitated and all his tug did was pull a flying vampire closer in to knock Trevor down from above.

He collided with the floor, a painful crack against the back of his head, and all the vampire's weight keeping him very pinned to the ground with little room for breath. You never would have guessed that a man so slight could be so heavy. His head swam with pain, forcing him to try and blink away blurry vision. In the fall he had lost his sword and the distance was too close to move his whip. The silver sword was pressing against his throat, and success looked to be glittering in golden eyes. But not all was lost, and a quick slash of his knave at the back of the man's ankle brought him crumbling down. 

Trevor scrambled away, reaching for his sword on his hands and knees when he was suddenly stopped by a thin sword being jammed right between the stones near his face. He was further pinned again, vampire pressing a knee into his very sore back. Had he any wind still in his lungs, he would have cried in pain at the sharp knee in the tender muscle beside his spine. The vampire held his head flush with damp stone, enough weight to crush him if the man really wanted to. His last attempt to escape was just used to throw Trevor down on his back, long nails bit into his arms as they held him to the floor. How could this man put so much pressure down, he looked like he weighed less than a sheep. 

Sunlight behind the vampire made his hair glow with an ethereal halo, and eyes heavily shadowed. Fangs were baring down on him, Trevor doing his best to hide his neck with his shoulders as the man lent down towards his ear, "You’ve lost, Belmont."

Trevor was breathing heavy, anger boiling as he tried to push himself as far away from those teeth as possible, "Then kill me, coward, and let him go."

Metal clanked as the cell bars slid open, vampire still firmly atop him. Grant rushed out, eyes filled wide with fear at the scene of Trevor pinned helpless beneath a predator.

"Go!" Trevor yelled at the man. And after a moment's hesitation, go he did. The sound of footsteps descending the stairs growing fainter as Trevor closed his eyes. "There," Trevor spat up at the vampire. "Done all I cared about. Kill me you fucking beast." 

Something was lurking in those evil eyes, but Trevor couldn't care less. If this is how he went then this is how it went. He thought briefly to his life, a bit of a waste but at least one more person got out of a monster's grasp. He only wished he could've killed this one on his way down. There would be no one to mourn him, not a speck of family floating in the wind. He was the last of his breed, the great House of Belmont sworn to kill creatures of the night. Well, he did the best someone could. Got a healthy enough of demon killing in his lifetime, he was sure that no elderly ancestor would be upset with his body count. Perhaps they'd greet him in Hell, tell him he died honorably with a vampire's teeth in his neck. What more would someone expect with his profession?

But the blond vampire chuckled, "That wasn't the deal."

Trevor shook his head, "No, I'd rather die than be some vampire's pet."

And again he shook his head, golden hair spilling down at Trevor's chest. If he wasn't evil, this man would be a work of priceless art. "Not dead, and certainly not a pet. You have very misconstrued ideas about my species. Let me offer some education."

Against all logic, the man stood up, offering his hand to the Belmont below him. Of course he didn't take it, opting to inch his hand towards the closest sword. The vampire tsked, "I wouldn't, Trevor Belmont. It wasn't in jest when I said that if you kill me it will be much worse for you."

"Please," Trevor huffed incredulously, still on the ground and closest to his sword. "Killing you would be worth it."

The man sighed, eyes in some other world, "That is what we all think." He began heading towards the stairs, pausing when Trevor didn't follow. "Are you just going to sit there the rest of your life?" 

But the Belmont was dumbfounded, fully expecting himself to die or be locked up in one of these cells by now. Trevor still retrieved his weapons under the vampire's watchful eye. The other man's own sword being summoned to its sheath like a loyal dog. He followed the man down the winding steps with complete trepidation, wondering who in their right mind would let an enemy behind them. Trevor was left to assume that the man had gone completely insane. 

"You may go freely in the castle, but the gates will no longer let you out. You took his place after all," the blond enforced as they exited the tower. He walked with no limp despite the cut Trever had delt to his ankle, fresh blood having stopped pouring long ago, leaving him freshly healed as though no fight had occurred. The same could not be said for the headache the Belmont was beginning to suffer. Trevor's fists were balled, wondering what the hell had led him here, and what he had done to deserve this as punishment. 

"You still haven't told me who you are," muttered the Belmont, keeping a safe distance between them. 

The blond looked over his shoulder curiously, "You have already concluded that this is Dracula's castle, and that I am _not_ Dracula. So why would I be standing in an empty man's home?"

There was a buzz of the blue lights, some far off draft and the sound of a leak dripping in the crumbling castle. Trevor gulped down the dryness of his throat, pulse having never slowed since he entered this place. "You're the man that killed him then." 

His voice had been all but a whisper. Leading the vampire to lower his eyes, shoulders sloping down. Was this man… _sad_? He had never met a vampire who ever showed a split second of remorse, perhaps it was different for their own kind. "My name is Alucard, and Dracula has been dead for a year." 

They continued walking, further into the body of the castle. It all led Trevor's mind astray. How could this man be strong enough to _kill_ Dracula. But then again, he was resistant to sunlight, perhaps Trevor was in the presence of a new all-powerful beast. One worse than his predecessor. And one who condemned people for flower picking. Yes, insanity sounded like a great explanation. 

"There's a room that shouldn't be too cold down here for you, and the kitchen is just down there. You think all vampire's are devils, I cannot fault you if it's what you were taught. Let me enlighten you Belmont. There are troves of amassed knowledge spanning centuries here, read whatever you like." Alucard paused, stare unreadable, "Call it a home if you like, but I strictly forbid your venture to the West wing."

Trevor huffed, "Oh is that where you keep your food?"

"Very funny, Belmont. It's where I sleep and I'd quite appreciate it if you didn't try any heroics by killing me whilst I nap." God forbid, this man might actually have a sense of humor. He stopped at a door, prompting it open. 

"If it's still cold I can divert some heaters your way, this place hasn't had a warm blooded resident in some time."

Trevor didn't enter, the room feeling like bait being thrown his way. "Why won't you kill me?" 

Alucard blinked at him, perhaps confused. "I was under the impression your family was extinct. For some time actually so you must have been young, it explains how easy it was to defeat you. However, I _am_ of the philosophy that the world is always in need of spiders."

"Spiders?" Trevor repeated and the blond nodded.

"Night creatures _do_ cause terror, they _do_ kill with reckless abandon, and they _are_ dangerous to any human settlement. They need people to control their population, and as I cannot, there's no guarantee that anyone is out there protecting the people. Spiders and flies, Trevor. We'd notice if the spiders left."

He twitched, arms crossed and face pinched, "I know how to kill monsters."

"Do you?" Alucard chimed with the most expression he had displayed. "You failed to kill a sick vampire in the middle of the day with two weapons and a reason to live." He looked towards the bedroom, "I don't expect you to trust me, but there's more valuable information here for your cause than you'll ever find again." 

"So you just want to teach me?" Trevor shook his head, knowing for sure that this man must be delusional. “And you think I will let you?”

Alucard's face remained stoic, though his shrug was casual. "Do you have any other choice?"


	2. The Wolf and the Wolves

Grant fled the castle as fast as his bare feet could take him, biting on cold ground as night began to fall. It left him alone in the woods with his only compass telling him to go _down_. So down he went, shuffling through frozen leaves and heaven forbid, snow had begun to drift as he held his tattered shirt together for any idea of warmth. Grant knew there were wolves, and he knew running made him a target, but even rationality was lost when all he could think of was to run. Run till his feet bled, and painted the snow, run till the image of that poor man was out of his head. Grant _left_ him. Perhaps that's what he was running from, he just left him with a vampire. All because of him, Trevor would probably die there in suffering. Grant ignored when the guilt caught up, and left frozen tears flying from his cheeks. He ignored the burn and the pain and the idea that wolves might be nipping at his heels. He didn’t know how long or how fast he had been going, yet even when it was dead into night and the snow had begun piling, Grant ran home to his family's little house attached to their bar. 

The door had no lock, so he stumbled in with the momentum of hours of running, collapsing on the warped wooden floor.

“Grant!” He didn’t know if it was his mother or his sister, their voices so similar. Hands were touching him, guiding him to a chair by the fire where his corpse-cold body could shiver. There were tears he knew, and kisses on his forehead from his doting African mother. He was wrapped in the colorful weaves of her family, made thick for European cold. His eyes were in and out, vision going white from lack of rest. “Grant please, speak to us!” 

He lolled his head to look at his sister, worry deep in her eyes. Her eyes, eyes of family he’d never think he’d see again. “Rosie.” 

She nodded, and he could tell she was crying just from her broken voice, “Yeah it’s me, I’m right here.” Grant nodded for no reason, letting his mother hug him till he was warm again. He had picked the snow lily for her, she loved the winter flowers.

“My baby boy,” she’d whisper, and his father consoled them both with strong hands. He visible resisted the urge to weep along with his wife. They weren’t a family that should have survived, two different heritages broiled in one family pot. But they were here, and happy. Adventure suddenly the least important thing in the world.

“How did you escape? Did he let you out?” Rosaly begged. But his throat was so torn from the heavy breathing while he ran, that when he spoke he barely could understand himself.

“Saved,” he gasped. “Someone saved me.” 

Rosaly covered her mouth in surprise, eyes welling up once more. “He did it…” 

Grant shook his head, “We’ve got to get him back. He’ll die alone up there.” 

His mother kept him seated, shoving a bowl of steaming soup in his hands. “You are not goin’ back there! To think of it, after you just came back. You’re tryin’ to kill me Grant.” 

But he sipped his soup, eyes on the fire wondering if maybe that Trevor man had made it out. He was certainly strong, and seemed capable. If he could find Grant locked up there all alone then maybe he could find a way out. 

His mother’s fingers threaded through his loc’d hair as he pondered into the flames, “You came home," she just kept repeating soft words the way any mother would with a son back from the dead.

Trevor cracked open his bedroom door, hesitant to even call it _his_. There was a smell wafting through the castle drafts, a smell that very much resembled food. It was a ploy, he knew it. Vampires don’t need food, so it was just to lure him out. Unfortunately, he hadn’t eaten anything since a piece of bread at the tavern last night, and hiking to a vampire’s castle all day did little to conserve energy. But was starvation worth it? Perhaps Alucard could come in to find Trevor dead on the floor after being emaciated to the breaking point. He’d do it just to see the look on the man’s face from hell. 

Dammit, he was hungry. 

So like a ghost, he crept through the halls. Paintings were hung, next to elaborate tapestries of dragons, or just alone on the wall. He walked along maroon carpet, the smell coming from where the man had mentioned the kitchens being housed. It was confirmed, someone was cooking and he sorely hoped it was not the vampire. His stomach was leading him now, beginning to cramp and twist. Days without food can just happen sometimes, but he had exerted so much energy trying to kill the man that now he was forced into being fed by him. It made Trevor sudder, feet quietly padding down the hall. 

This is what his ancestors would be upset with, Trevor Belmont lured by a vampire with the promise of a snack.

The smell grew stronger, and it became the most intense when he approached the open door of a kitchen. There were machines of inconceivable nature, one that was currently producing a false fire on it’s top. And of course there stood the vampire, tending to a cast iron skillet. He was out of his thick black cloak, in a simple white linen shirt that hung loosely around his waist. Even with the man’s back to Trevor, he was sure that Alucard noticed his arrival. And perhaps his staring, throwing a quick look over his shoulder,

“It’s venison.” 

Trevor grumbled, hanging back in the door while the vampire cooked. Even seeing it didn’t do much to help him believe it. A _vampire. Cooking._ It was the most unholy thing he had ever witnessed. But then he saw fresh looking greens being thrown in the skillet, and he hadn’t seen green in five months. It must have been magic, making things grow out of season. And if it was then he certainly wanted no part in eating it. 

“There's water for tea if you’d like.”

“Vampire’s don’t drink tea.”

Alucard turned, moving the cooked meat from a sizzling skillet to two plates. “Incorrect once again, Belmont. Hibiscus is my favorite tea.” Trevor glared at the food. _Two_ plates full. He was planning on dining with Trevor. Like some sort of friend. 

But lord, did it look good. Beansprouts seared near perfectly, fresh leaves of something nice right next to a delectable amount of venison. Trevor still paused, how could he be sure the man wasn't feeding him some slab of a villager. Well he couldn’t, and that's why Trevor didn’t sit down even when the vampire pulled out a chair. 

“Please, Belmont. There’s no use in pride, I heard your stomach through three floors.” His voice was clipped and weary, obviously tired. He mentioned he was sick before, but sick with what? The man looked fine to him, perhaps it was all the human food he’d been eating that was driving him mad. So yes Trevor took a seat at a vampire’s table, but he didn’t touch the food. 

“How do you survive the sun?” 

Alucard peaked an eyebrow over his fork, finishing his bite before he dignified the question with a response. “I believe the same way you do.” 

Trevor glared at the man and his obvious avoiding of the question. Was it too much to ask how the hell a vampire was strong enough to survive the sun? He picked up a fork to push around the food he was most certainly not going to eat. 

“You said you were sick,” Trevor spoke again.

The vampire nodded, taking a sip of something red, it was too thin to be blood so Trevor’s best intentions told him it was tea. “Cursed.”

“With what?” he spat the question, eyes narrowed. All he wanted was one straight answer for the night. Just one and he’d skip his merry way back to his fucking bedroom. 

Aucard’s lips lifted in a half smile on the rim of his cup, “I already told you, I killed the master of this castle. So here I reside.”

Trevor shook his head, stabbing the delicate fork into the wooden table. “You still aren’t answering my question. _With what?_ Pox? Plague? You got a third arm hanging out your stomach? What are you sick with?” 

Alucard ignored the anger in his voice, setting his cup of tea gently back on the table that was now sporting a very erect fork. “I can never leave, the gates won’t allow it, slowly I’ll die from an ever lasting fatigue. Lest I get murdered by a Belmont, which I do not suggest unless you want to be locked in here till your body withers to a husk.” And then he ate a green bean. “Fulfilling enough for an answer?”

Trevor let the steam slowly leave his body, resting back into the chair, “So I’m just here to keep you company while you die?” 

“Spiders and flies,” Alcuard muttered again, nearly done with his dinner. “The curse dies with me, and perhaps someone who knows how to use dark knowledge for good is just the right person to bequeath this place to.”

He laughed, “I don’t want to be some fucking heir to Dracula’s throne!” 

But again, Alucard showed nearly no reaction, “You won’t. You’ll be free to use the castle however you like, make more little Belmont’s to kill all the monsters underneath Wallachia’s beds.”

The brown-haired man stared at the plate in front of him, thinking that yes this must actually be hell. Hell that had free food and beds. And free vampire’s to float around you with divine purpose. Curse. He looked to Alucard, if it had already been a year then what was the man at full strength? A force, no doubt. Trevor swore under his breath for letting the man get the better of him in the tower. Tricking him into this. If he wasn’t so angry he’d weep, stuck in a castle with no one but a delusional vampire. Truly the Belmonts’ version of hell. 

“Why’d you kill Dracula?” Trevor asked instead of dwelling on his thoughts. Thinking always led to bad things. Alucard gave another phantom smile, picking up his plate to bring it to a basin, from which water flowed from a tap. Trevor was hesitant to call sorcery, knowing that Dracula had been a master engineer. 

“That,” Alucard spoke quietly as he shut off the water and dried his hands, “is a question for another day.” He turned to Trevor, hands braced on the counter, “I’m going to bed, as before. Visit wherever. The library on the second floor is truly a masterpiece. Goodnight, Trevor Belmont.” 

It left him sitting in an empty kitchen, with slowly cooling food. It left him to think. Left him to ponder how on earth he was going to get out of this. Trevor’s eyes looked towards the ceiling, as if he’d find some answer waiting in the rafters. But there was no cosmic explanation drifting down from the ceiling. Instead, floated down a little spider, caught in the draft. Slowly falling without care from no web in particular. 

Trevor left the food on the table that night, untouched. 

He barely got any rest, even on a luxurious mattress filled with heaven knows, sleep evaded him. Fire flashed in his mind, memories streaming back. There was no one left, just a burnt manor standing before him. If he tried to reach out and touch the burnt wood, his hand crumbled into ash. It had been more than a decade, and the image was still so fresh. Fresh enough for the smell of smoke to jostle him from his dreams. Trevor sat up with a start, sweat developed on his skin. 

He breathed in gasps, headache still pounding from getting knocked on the floor. Trevor rubbed his head when his eyes turned to the window. 

“Ahh!” Trevor fled to the otherside of the mattress, nearly falling off in fright. A woman was standing by the window, back towards him. She seemed unphased by his scream, and he kept one eye on the form while he fished around for a knife from his belt. “Who the hell are you?” 

The woman was thin, blonde hair braided to the side, she turned to look at him with honest eyes. A spark of recognition bloomed in his head, and he wondered if he had ever met her before. She wasn’t responding, but that didn’t stop Trevor from asking as he rose from the other side of the bed. “How did you get in here?” No answer. “Are you stuck too?” 

The woman just smiled, closing her eyes as if to slumber, before her entire form dissipated into mist. Just like that, she was gone. Trevor’s room once again only filled with his thundering heart. Who, why, how? Every question that could be concieved was flashing between his ears. He panted, knave pointed at any shadow in the room, expecting one of them to jump. The _empty_ room. The ghost was the last straw. 

The Belmont snagged his cloak from the hanger, shucked on boots as quick as his feet would allow. The electric lights stayed on continuously, leaving no need for a candle to light his way to the door. He hurried down stairs with blood rushing through his ears. Maybe he’d just scale the walls, it couldn’t be that hard. Ghosts were not in his job description. Or his imprisonment description, and were a perfect justification to leave. But the castle was nearly a labyrinth, twists and corners leading him to places he had never seen before. And like a story book, he ran directly into a painting of the woman on the wall. 

Her features were delicate, just like the bundle of snow lilies in her lap, but here her smile wasn’t sad. It was loving and tender. She was beautiful, but how could he have seen her in his room? Trevor shook his head, he didn’t have time to think. The longer he stalled the more chance Alucard would find him trying to flee. What could the man even do to him at this point? He had made it clear that he had no intention of killing Trevor so what else? Further imprison him? 

Finally, he found the two enormous doors that had started this entire shit show, and Trevor threw them open into the bitter night. Snow was cascading down, ground blanketed with a layer of fresh white. It’s a good thing his boots were furlined for this exact reason, trudging through the wet and cold fluff. Lilies still poked out from the snow, silvery as the moon. He ran through the garden, all the way to the gate. The wall was frosted over, and the grip he tried was icy slick, leaving him slipping off before he could even start. 

“Dammit!” Trevor howled, in chorus with the wolves that he had been warned about, lurking beyond the gate. He drew his whip, looking back at the gate. There was no lock, how could it possibly keep him inside. But instead of testing whatever defensive magic on himself, he snapped towards the iron doors with his bull-whip. 

Within a second of the doors opening, Trevor was knocked down by a wolf. They landed in the snow, the beast snapping at Trevor’s flailing arms. He was able to grab his hunting knife from his belt and stab the creature in it’s belly before it could tear off an arm. It whimpered and retreated to the safety of it’s pack. The pack that was now stalking through the open gates. It had gotten a good bite on his shoulder, the blood welling out but Trevor continued to ward them off with his whip.

But he knew how packed hunted, having encountered too many of them, himself. Eventually one of the brave ones was going to risk it. And that’s exactly what happened, the largest of the pack had a dark pelt that was dusted with snowflakes. More than three of the wolves crouched, ready to all jump at the same time, not even his whip could save him from that. But the large one was caught mid-air, a white blur throwing the wolf down in the snow. Both Trevor and the pack jumped back in surprise, but the wolves rarely hesitated. Two of them still lunging towards Trevor. 

He managed to knock one on the flank with his whip, but the other got hold of his vambrace, biting down through the leather. Trevor yelled in pain, kicking the dog away as best he could before getting a good shot on it’s eye with his whip. The beast yowled, whining and fleeing. But this was how packs hunted, with turns, and soon more were coming after him. There was the furiouscious sound of snarls and screams from the wolf who got knocked down. And eventually the larger beast won, turning its attention on the wolves circling Trevor.

This was most definitely a wolf, but larger than all of them, standing well enough at Trevor’s shoulder. It scattered bright red blood across the fresh snow, a truly gruesome sight as breast fought beast. Trevor caught one of the pack’s throats with his short sword, effectively killing it on the spot. But another had snuck behind him, getting a bite on his calf. He had no leather there, and he fell with the force. Getting downed with a pack around you was the worst scenario Trevor could think of. He was unable to stand without the beast’s mouth tugging desperately on his leg, sword being used to keep more of them from getting a piece. Once again the huge white wolf was at his side, tearing apart the one trying to pick him off. The wolf who had gotten his leg put up a fight with the white beast, slashing all down it’s pristeen flank. 

Stained like the snow, the white wolf fought until the last of the pack was fleeing from the scene. Trevor stumbled up, most of the bites only punctures, but blood flowed freely nonetheless. He hobbled to the gate, the last wolf running far, far away; with a trail of blood in its wake. Trevor didn’t even notice that he could pass through, he turned his attention to the one beast remaining. It stood surrounded by the bodies of the pack, painted with blood. The creature panted heavily, before collapsing to the ground. 

Trevor rushed to its side, the thing’s muzzle a horrible red, and deep slashes on his lower side. Blood was weeping into the fresh snow, falling flakes melting on contact with the wounds. The wolf was whimpering, and before Trevor’s eyes began to change. Bones morphed and fur molted into skin. The beast contorted with painful cries until the Belmont saw Alucard bleeding in the snow. 

The wounds looked worse now, no fur to cover the damage to his entire torso. The vampire was writhing in the moonlight, hands trying to cover the slashes on his ribs. The man had trousers and a shredded white shirt to cover him but Trevor threw his cloak on the man anyway. He hauled him up with his good shoulder, muttering encouragement because he couldn’t carry the man alone in his own state. 

Trevor tried not to touch the vampire's filleted stomach as he stumbled back to the castle, limping and struggling. They left blood in the snow, but the vampire didn’t seem to care that Trevor was spilling as much crimson as he was. “Do you have any medical supplies?” 

Alucard coughed, spitting up blood from the throats he had torn, “To the left, it’s a laboratory.” And so Trevor carried the blond behind a curtain to a glittering room filled with instruments of every kind. Trevor hauled the taller man onto a counter, head resting against the fur of the coat. “Th-the cabinets, over there. Disinfectants.” 

The Belmont followed where his thin finger pointed, pulling jars of clear liquids and rags, needles and thread being the next thing he grabbed. He set everything down, counter wide enough to hold a man with extra space. Alucard attempted to sit up, growling in pain before Trevor, not so nicely, pushed him back down. “You stay, move anymore and you’ll just be making it worse.” 

The man’s golden eyes kept flickering with agony, balling his fists in the fabric of Trevor’s cloak. “The alcohol, I need you to douse a rag in it.” The Belmont twisted open the clear jar, and sure enough the painful scent of strong alcohol seared his nose. He hadn’t smelled anything that strong in years. When the rag was suffenciently soaked, he began gently dabbing at the long slashes. 

Alucard screamed, slamming his fist so hard on the counter that it dented the metal. “Hold on,” Trevor muttered, and he ripped the rest of the man's shirt into strips, wrapping them up. “I need you to bite down.” Sweat was dripping from the man’s pale face, and somehow it was getting even paler. He nodded, biting down on the thick cloth as Trevor continued to clean away the wound. He could visibly see the skin trying to fix itself, but failing to do so effectively. Perhaps that was part of his fatigue, all his energy lost in the fight. The vampire still writhed and squirmed in pain, but was doing his best to keep it contained.

“I’m gonna sew it up now,” but Alucard snatched his wrist. 

“No,” spat the vampire, gag cloth falling. “No it’ll heal before it matters. I-I just. Just wrap it, please.” 

Trevor narrowed his eyes at the man, “This doesn’t look like you're going to be healing very soon.” But Alucard continued to shake his head, insistent that he’d be fine. The Belmont’s fingers still wanted to creep towards the suturing materials. Instead they grabbed the bundle of gauze, laying out thick layers of cotton over the disinfected slashes. 

The vampire continued to wince even during this, it made Trevor’s hands shake. He wasn’t a good medic, and in no stretch a healer of any kind. He could only hope this was going to help. “I need you to sit up now,” he spoke gently. 

Alucard grunted, lifting himself up by his elbows to sit straight. The man had already bled through the first layer of cotton, leaving Trevor no choice but to pick it out and replace it. Alucard’s hair was wet from the snow, hanging heavy and very close to Trevor’s face as he tried to expertly dress the wounds. He smelled like wet ground, small bits of gravel stuck to his body. But beneath that there was a soothing minty layer that trevor rather not get distracted by. _Looky here, the vampire smells pretty._ God he was stupid. The wrapping wound all across his abdomen, reaching high enough to almost cover his chest. There was already a large pink scar there, from clavicle to hip across his torso. This man just had bad luck. Trevor hands pressed lightly as he brought the bandage around, having to stand very close to the man just to get it right. 

Hopefully he didn’t notice Trevor’s unsteady breaths. 

“Your bites, let me take care of them,” Alucard mumbled with a broken breath. 

Trevor shook his head, “No luck, you’re in sore need of rest if you want to make it out.” But the blond dismissed his words with a wave, peeling back the torn cloth of Trevor's tunic. It was at that moment, with Alucard lent over to inspect, that both of them realized their proximity. The loud breaths, light fingers on cold skin. Even the air felt different in the small space between them. Trevor cleared his throat, shrugging the man’s hands away.

“Belmont, let me see, you could have a tooth stuck in there.” 

“‘s fine, let me finish this you bastard.” Finally Alucard lent back, allowing Trevor to tie off the wrappings. There was silence in the large gilded room, except for the two of their heaving breaths. Both exhausted and pained. 

“Now you don’t have an excuse, let me see it.” 

“You’re in worse shape than I am!” Trevor retracted again. 

Alucard loved to use that face, the ‘listen to me right now’ face. It was more emotion than he displayed all day. “Trevor, my mother was a doctor. I know how to help, let me see it.” 

The Belmont growled underneath his breath, shoving his bloody shoulder to the man. Thin fingers and delicate shears snipped away the tunic, ghosting over the puncture marks. “Well don’t just stare at it like it’s dessert.” 

There it was again, the ‘don’t mess with me Trevor’ face. Alucard ignored his quip, saturating another rag with the bitter alcohol to clean the punctures. After a little bit of the cleaning, the vampire held up a little white shard to Trevor’s face for proof, “See, tooth.” The Belmont just rolled his eyes. 

“Why do you get to stitch me?” Trevor hissed, appalled at the double standards as the man began carefully threading the curved needle.

Alucard didn’t even mutter a response, closing up the largest drags with nimble fingers, so light that Trevor could forget that he was even getting worked on. He zoned out, just remembering the exhaustion in his bones. He really wished he would have eaten that dinner now, stomach empty and screaming. Maybe that food was still on the kitchen table. His lids were heavy, and he crossed his arms to not sway with the buzzing sound of electric lights. 

The vampire cleared his throat, “Your leg needs more work as well.” 

Trevor just looked to his bloody calf, shock taking most of the pain away, “Oh yea.” They switched, Trevor sitting up on the counter with his bloody pant leg rolled up and shoe gone. Alucard was still leaning heavily on the counter, but stared focused on his work. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

The blond’s hair was thrown on one side, drying in fresh waves, “It might take a day or two but they should be scars soon. Can’t say much for you though,” he plucked another shard from a would with thin metal tweezers. “Another tooth.” 

Trevor shrugged, shoulder painfully sore and professionally bandaged. “Your mother was a doctor?” Alucard hummed in response, dabbing clean the long rakes from the wolf’s teeth. The tips of his yellow hair stained red. “How did that work?”

“She healed people with studied methods, not plague suspicions that left people sniffing latrines. Science.” 

The Belmont’s eyes drifted, wincing every now and then as Alucard picked the gravel out of his leg from being drug over the snow. “My mother used to paint.” 

“What did she paint Belmont?” 

Trevor sighed, smelling ash again. He rested his arms on his knees, and laid his throbbing head down, “I don’t even remember.”


	3. Speakers and Peaches

“Grant, can you grab another barrel from the cellar?” 

He rolled his eyes, back from the dead and back to work. It had been three weeks since the town saw him fall down from the mountain, cold but alive. And he hadn’t heard the end of it, what was the beast like? Did he have claws? Was he hairy like a bear? Grant was over it, he threw his rag on the bar, glaring at his father who had just told him that would be all the barrels they were going to need for the next two nights. So he grumbled down the stairs, hauling up a barrel onto some thick net to drag it up the cellar stairs. His mind often wandered to Trevor, the hunter who had come looking for him. Rosaly said that he had spoken with their uncle for hours before asking her to lead him to the castle. She apologized a million and one times over about steering the man away. But he wasn’t bitter, everything pointed to him being dead. At least Trevor had faith. 

So he hauled the barrel behind the bar, leaning on it with a pant after he was done. Rosaly was feeding warm loaves to paying customers, all of them regulars. But Grant liked the new people, the travelers. He liked the stories of far off lands like China, or Madagascar. Not people from the other side of the village. Grant was dragging his rag through the water trough to begin washing down a spilled pint of ale when travelers walked right in. 

It was a Speaker train, the younger ones obviously, who still cared about a nice drink. All of them donned short hair, even what appeared to be the women. They were a mass of blue that made the whole tavern whisper with confusion. His father greeted them pleasantly, the most welcoming man in the world his father was. A few commandeered a table, Rosaly already asking if they wanted drinks. He poured the number of mugs she flashed him with her hand as quick as could be. His sister was at the counter to pick them up but he waved her off. 

“Let me take them, I’ve never met Speakers before.” 

His sister gave him a face that very much reminded him of their mother. The two were practically identical, Rosie just a touch paler. “Fine but you still wash all the dishes,” his sister groaned, rounding the bar. He whispered a thanks, carrying trays of heavy drinks. They all accepted their mugs kindly, one of them almost spilling on a red haired girl. 

“Oh damn, I’m sorry,” he pleaded quickly, thankful that it made it to the table safely. 

The rosy cheeked woman smiled, laughing it off, “It is fine. Thank you very much.” 

Grant nodded, practically jumping out of his skin. _New people._ He could have done a dance. Fortunately, the local bard hadn’t cursed them with his presence today. “Where have you all come from?” 

The table let out a chorus of the same answer, “Lupu.” 

He smiled, “Oh and where are you headed?” Because no one was ever really _headed_ here, just passing through to get somewhere more exciting. 

A brown haired man answered, “Gresit.” 

Grant nodded, “I’ve never been there before.” 

The redhead next to him piped up, “Neither have we, but grandfather thinks we might rest here for a bit before we move on.” 

“Do you have inn rooms yet?” asked Grant with a tilt to his head. Mainly to the girl next to him, vibrant blue eyes. The table shook their heads, “Well if you plan on staying, the Winterwood Inn probably has the best accommodations from what I’ve heard.”

The girl blinked up at him, “And are you from here?”

He got that question a lot, “Uh yes. Mother’s from Africa.” 

And that’s how he got to chatting with the little table of Speakers, Rosaly glaring at him from the bar. He’d make it up to her somehow, he promised. But this was too good to pass up. They all had stories, marvelous stories that read like books written in gold. Stories that came from times long passed, and ones that spoke of the future as if it was real. He sat and listened with awe as they spun words like it was art.

“I almost thought about becoming a Speaker, you know.” He spoke mainly to Sypha, the girl beside him. She seemed just as intrigued by him as he was by her. Parts of the table having broken off into their own conversation. 

“Really?” she exclaimed, arm propped on the table by her emptying mug. He nodded and she questioned, “Well why haven’t you?”

Grant shrugged, “Oh. You know I’d love the traveling. Meeting so many people. But I’m not very good in the helping those people department.” 

Her brows pinched in confusion, “I do not understand.” 

He swallowed, remembering Trevor’s face. Eyes so full of fury and fear. And he just ran, what a coward. “Oh its, well it's not very important. Do you need more ale?” 

“No, no tell me, I have to know now.” 

There was something about her that he just couldn’t say no to, maybe it was her eyes. “A little over a fortnight ago, I...got into some trouble.” Sypha’s hypnotic eyes widened as he continued, “It was trapped in this castle, by this _monster_. Some man came and let me out but, it was at the price of his own freedom. I should have gone back to get him, he’s probably so alone up there.” 

Sypha paused, absorbing, before she poked him in the chest. “Let’s go get him.” 

“What?” Grant reared back.

“Castle you said? I didn’t know there was a castle around here. How far is it?” 

“Uh, a half a day’s hike I suppose but wait,” he stared at her with complete confusion. “We can’t just go back there. He’ll kill us.”

She leaned in, “The beast?” Her face twitched in thought, “What kind of beast is he anyway?”

Grant scanned the commotion in the tavern, whispering quietly, “A _vampire_.” Sypha’s mouth fell agape, and she leaned back. He couldn’t read what her face was saying. Was it shock? Was it awe? Surprise but the happy kind? She repeated the word, as if she had just found a golden egg. Why would anyone be excited about a vampire? “Do you see why we can’t go back?”

“Well he didn’t hurt you,” she pointed. And it was a very good point, one that had kept him up at night. Why hadn’t he just been killed?

“He...” Grant tried to drag back the few conversations he had with the monster, “...doesn’t want to feed on people. Just keeps them as prisoners. I actually think he was sort of lonely…” 

“Then we must go if he doesn’t want to kill us,” she decided all by herself. 

But Grant shook his head, thinking back to the desperation that his mother had held him with when he came back. All the guilt that he had felt after what he saw his disappearance to do his family. He couldn’t do that again, not even risk that again. Rosaly would surely kill him if he didn’t die at the hands of the vampire.

“I can’t,” he whispered. Her spirits fell, shoulders slumping as she asked why not. Grant sighed, “My family lost me once, I can’t do that to them again.” 

He left the table with a quiet and sincere apology, not wanting to drag on a sad conversation. They shared passing glances the rest of the night, and he was saddled with even more guilt at the sadness of letting this Speaker girl down. So Grant sighed, busing himself with work until the guilt melted away. 

Trevor huffed at the book cover, “‘Gargoyle’s Guide to Stew,’ if I open then and human meat is an ingredient I’m burning it.” 

Alucard was sorting through old beasiaries, leaving Trevor to the unusual cookbooks in the library. “Please don’t burn my books.” 

“It’s made to kill me,” pointed Trevor, reaching up to place it back on the shelf. He winced, forgetting that he used his bad shoulder.

Alucard hummed, “So was everything else in this library, is your shoulder bothering you again?” 

“No,” Trevor quickly shut the question down, even if it was a valid one. He was mostly healed, the muscle just recovering from the bruising force of the bites. Alucard narrowed his eyes but didn’t question any further, instead continuing to flip through multiple volumes at a time. The Belmont sighed, picking up a book with his good arm. _Let me offer some education_ , the man had told him that first day in the tower. And now here they were, Trevor reading old cultural vampire tomes like a school boy. He would never admit that it did offer him a new insight into the creatures, how they think and what they prioritize. Mostly it was food, but they had an entire underground hierarchical society that even the Belmonts had no knowledge of. But Alucard had yet to explain where he fit in. The man had essentially killed their king, and yet no one was here to bow to him. 

Trevor threw a glance over his book. It was daylight, and heavily stained windows still offered light in the large library. Filtered sun doing nothing to harm him, even for long periods. His hair was up, and in a shirt exactly like the one that had gotten torn up that first night. He must just have copies in his wardrobe. The man still seemed a little crazy to Trevor, but less so now. After the fight out in the snow, he was less tempted to behave so aggressively towards him. Trevor had been bleeding all over the place and Alucard failed to even bat an eye. 

He continued to flick his eyes towards the vampire at the table, unable to control himself. He looked older than he acted sometimes, and then other times he behaved wise beyond any years a vampire could acquire. Like he had seen the sun die times over. Alucard was candy-wrapped enigma, and it hurt his head to try and figure it out. All he could do right now was, well wait for the man to die. 

He wasn’t going to ask himself why the thought made his chest tighten. 

“I never thanked you,” Trevor offered instead of introspective thought. Alucard peered up from his study of a book, curls of gold framing his face. “For saving me.” 

The blond hummed, back to his pages, “You shouldn’t have tried to leave.” 

Trevor’s mouth fell, face scrunched in a sudden urge to throw a book at the vampire. “God forbid I try and make nice with you.” 

There was a pregnant pause, made heavy by Trevor's anger, before Alucard breathed across the library, “I never thanked you either, for tending to me after.” 

Trevor had his back to the man, shoving books back in their places right after picking them up. From here Alucard couldn’t see him biting his lip, “Alright then. Thanks are done.” His voice was harsh, a little more than he intended, but it was better than nothing.

After sorting tomes in the library Alucard drug Trevor to the greenhouse to pick some herbs for dinner. The man liked to cook, and liked to share his cooking. The greenhouse was enormous, nearly the size of an actual home, and it was littered with herbs, vegetables, fruit trees. Anything you could want that grew, was there. 

“Pick some fruit, whichever looks best,” Alucard waved off, going to clip his herb sprigs. Trevor continued to eye the man through the line of trees. He was always tired, but sometimes life would flicker in those eyes like that first night after the snow. The Belmont waited patiently to see those moments again, where he didn’t have to speak to a dying man. Where it felt normal to have a conversation between them. He usually found the only emotion he could draw from the vampire was petty annoyance. So pettily annoy, he would. 

“What’s your favorite fruit then?” Trevor called, toasty and warm in the greenhouse. Golden eyes shot at him from across the way.

“I said pick whatever you liked.” 

Trevor shrugged, “Not why I’m asking.” 

And then silence. “Peaches, if you’re so desperate.” Trevor smiled, hearing the pestered inflections in his voice. Part of him also annoyed the man just as his own sort of revenge for sticking him here. He found it eased the time. “Peaches,” Trevor whispered, seeing them in some book that he had been forced to run through. The color orange came to mind, but no not that orange one. And not that one. “Aha,” Trevor plucked a fuzzy fruit from a small tree, and then collected more that he could fit in his hands. 

“Why peaches?”

“Why anything, Belmont?” 

Trevor huffed, laying the fruit in a nearby abandoned basket, _“Why blood...”_

And again he was greeted with silence. The vampire moved himself next to Trevor with his magic, making the man jump with a curse. “You ask so many questions.” 

“Well,” bit Trevor back, still startled by the sudden appearance, “maybe if you answered them I wouldn’t have to ask so many.” 

The blond tilted his chin in response, eyes peering down to the basket of fruit on the floor. Alucard gave a disapproving hum at the sight of the fruit, turning to exit the greenhouse. No matter what he did, it never seemed to please the blond. Especially when Trevor had admitted he didn't know what a medusa was, that earned him a wall of books on demonic classification. Trevor blindly followed, there was nothing else to do but wander the castle with the man. There were many pictures of the woman he saw the first night. Scattered along the castle. It was only her pictures that remained untarnished or uncovered. One day he would ask Alucard about her, once he got through the more annoying questions first. 

Trevor set the basket down in the kitchen, leaning back in his chair to watch the man pass the time by cooking. There were machines all over Dracula’s castle, but none of them more exciting than the refrigerators, and the stoves. Metal ovens that fit in a confined spot. It was magic enough to Trevor. Alucard prepared some meat that was stored in cold cases, reheating and cooking it on the stovetop. He never went hungry again, always ate the man’s food without question. It was always good too. 

“Did your mother teach you how to cook?” he had asked onced. 

“No the books did,” was the response. 

Trevor never thanked him for the meals though, no that felt too domestic. Just ate in a pale silence, unless the Belmont had taken it upon himself to annoy the man through dinner that day. It was so heavily routine, and it made him wonder if Alucard had the energy to ever do anything else. Maybe this is why he had lasted so long, just repeating the same steps with efficiency. Even right after getting his stomach slashed the blond was up the next day making a small meal for them. He wondered if he had ever cooked so much when Trevor wasn’t around. Had he cooked for Grant like this? Alucard had been mildly bedridden after the fight with the wolves, but he still refused to let Trevor enter his wing to tend to any wounds. That had pissed him off, but also proved that perhaps both of them were a bit bullheaded.

After dinner they’d part ways, Alucard going to bed in his West wing, Trevor wandering around until he tired himself out. He still hated to call it _his_ bedroom. He hated having anything claimed in the castle. Nothing was his, he was just trapped in the routine. Trapped in a dying man’s tomb, and his only option was to wait. Sleep came and went, some nights, ones like this—sleep tossed him into hell. 

Trevor would be bound with his eyes forced open as his family burned to ash. His mother and father, his siblings and cousins. Everyone he had ever known. And then he’d relive those first few days, young and unable to understand anything. Living off the hunting practice he was able to recall. And then that’s how time moved on, Soon he was older, wiser and stronger, but still alone. Always alone. Sometimes it was the loneliness that woke him. 

So Trevor sat at the edge of _not his_ bed, rubbing his temples trying to get the pain beneath his ribs to leave. But he felt sick to his stomach, mind over run by thoughts and memories. Why out of everyone else was he so alone? How could no one else make it out? “Fucking hell,” Trevor growled, not even bothering to put on his tunic, throwing on his cloak over his bare skin and leaving the room. 

The castle was always good for a wander, the incomprehensible architecture always leading to new discoveries. One time he found a piano that played itself. Trevor hadn’t been able to find it since however. His feet took him nowhere and he stared at the paintings. If they weren’t of landscapes they were of her and her tender smile. Trevor spoke to her sometimes, questioned why he had seen her that night. Of course he never expected a response, he wasn’t that far gone. But it helped he supposed. Every little thing to pass the time. 

Tonight he came up on a hall that led to a large balcony, the glass doors open and there stood a vampire in the moonlight. He was wearing a long robe that caught in the wind, hair following suit. Alucard must have been looking at something because he seemed to have been standing there forever. Trevor huffed, walking out to join him in the night. What else was there to do when you're all alone?

Golden eyes narrowed at Trevor as he approached, “Cold?” 

But the Belmont shrugged, not caring that his chest was exposed. There were still a few small bandages on his shoulder, the rest formed scar tissue or were faded completely. It was beginning to warm, and he was fairly sure that first night in the castle was going to be the last snow. “Not enough. Why are you awake? Thought you’d be tired.”

“Ah,” sighed the man, voice in the wind and eyes in the distance, “it's a cruel trick you know. This curse, it makes me so tired I can’t sleep sometimes. Wraps me in it and leaves me waking.” He looked down at his hands, the ones that were running over the balcony banister, “You weren’t tired as well?” 

He shrugged, “Not very good at sleeping.” 

They stood, watching the night in a relative silence for a bit. Clouds drifting lazily across the half moon, stars dotting in and out. The forest below them was either evergreen or dead looking, nothing too pleasing about the scene. Trevor looked to his side, once again stealing glances at the vampire. Because the moonlight did him justice, made him look awake. Alive. Perhaps that’s because he was never meant to be out in the sun, never belonged with warmth. Still, the veins of a tired man crept along his neck

“Why did you kill Dracula?” _Why did you do this to yourself?_

Alucard shut his eyes, breathing in the nighttime breeze until he could only let it out with a heavy sigh. “He was building an army, about to release it unto the world. He needed to be stopped,” Alucard looked to Trevor with lips pursed in a thin line. “That is the only answer. No political motive, no prophecy. Just had to be done.” 

But it made no sense, Trevor shook his head, “But why you? Why alone, where is everybody else?” 

Alucard shrugged, “There was no one else who could. So here I stand, all alone. For what reason Trevor? I don’t know, perhaps another curse of the castle.” 

Trevor crumbled, leaning his back on the banister, “Curses get broken in all the fairy tales. There’s no loophole for you?” 

Something swam in Alucard’s eyes, a large bright glimmer of hope that was quickly covered just as the clouds blocking the moon. He looked so honest, so broken open. So helpless, “Of course there is. There always is.” 

Trevor furrowed his brows, “Well what is?” 

Alucard sighed again, strolling back inside, “The impossible, Trevor Belmont. What else.” 

But Trevor wasn't going to let him continue his cryptic words, he knew the man must be older than time but that was no excuse to be so dramatic. The Belmont followed him inside, still pestering. "Did you know about the curse when you did it?"

The vampire's lips parted, but no response followed. He trailed the man back into the library, and would you look at that, they passed the piano along the way. Alucard situated himself away from Trevor, floating up to a ledge with no ladder. He looked smug about it too, bastard. 

"Do I have to recite a song and dance just to get you to answer the question?" he called up to the beast on the ledge. 

Alucard twitched his face into a smile, "Actually yes, Belmont that sounds quite entertaining."

Rolling his eyes, "You know it's almost like I'm going to be stuck here for a while, and it would be nice to know who the Hell I'm stuck with."

Silence fell from the ledge, where Alucard's form was hidden at Trevor's angle. He didn't see the man struggle to find the right words. Struggle to explain. The Belmont only saw it when Alucard lent his pretty face over the banister, "Partly." 

" _Partly._ " Trevor repeated to himself, curious as to why Dracula would set the curse in the first place. Did it have something to do with his purpose of building his army? The legend had remained dormant for years, why last year? Trevor sat, lent back in one of the finely crafted chairs, looking out on the mountain. He chewed his thumbnail absently, mind still trying to fit the pieces together.

Up on the ledge, Alucard had crumbled to the floor, resting in the corner of large walls of books. He ran thin fingers through his hair, chest tightening with painful memories. Had he the nutrition, his tears would be filled with blood, but Alucard never fed anymore. Not even on animals. Hoping it would bring his death sooner. He didn't have care enough to wipe his tears away, letting them roll down at their leisure. 

"I knew he had set up defenses," he called down to the Belmont who was probably disorganizing the library for entertainment. There came no response, he didn't expect one. "I knew they could hurt me."

But he had to do what was right, for his mother. For her people. Alucard still could trace the memory of her ashes with his mind. They had been too late. Everyone had been too late. He hesitated to close his eyes, in fear his father's face would be lurking behind his lids. He'd catch glimpses of the man if he walked by a mirror. His mother always said they looked so similar, and now even Alucard's own face was haunting him. 

"Would you do it again?" Trevor spoke loudly, voice almost echoing in the expansive room. 

Alucard squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back any pitiful sobs. "Yes," he couldn't be sure that Trevor could hear it. But Alucard said it nonetheless, for himself. To remind him that he did make the right decision, no matter the consequences. Wallachia was alive, his mother's legacy untarnished by a war. "A hundred times, I'd always do it."

Because Trevor didn't know what killing Vlad Dracula meant, not to Alucard. He drove a stake right through his father's heart, the heart that had loved his mother. The heart that had raised him with curiosity and wonder. _His father's loving heart._ The man's ring still remained in his childhood bedroom, a place he seldom went. It made it all worse to relive his father's last words, his last attempt to embrace his son as he crumbled to ash. 

Alucard swallowed back the tears, leaning over to see what the Belmont was busying himself with down on the ground. Sleep, apparently, eyes shut in a cushioned reclining chair. One of his mother's favorite inventions from his father. He looked peaceful, moonlight painting him silver. Alucard sighed, at least one of them would be at peace tonight.

Grant knocked on the wooden door to the Winterwood Inn, greeted by a disgruntled Madam Pintersham. He smiled, "I'd like to have a word with the Speakers."

The portly woman shrugged, haggard face underlit by the candle she held. Pintersham pointed back towards the hall with doors lined up, telling him that most of the lady Speakers were in the last two rooms. Grant thanked her, and the woman just grumbled a _whatever._ Oh well, he made his way down the hall coming up on the last two doors. He made a random guess and knocked on the very last one.

A young black haired Speaker woman opened the door, bleary eyed and in sleeping robes. Grant once again cleared his throat, "Is Miss Sypha here?" 

Against all luck she nodded, closing a door for a moment to go retrieve her. Grant twitched in the hallway, nerves making his body jump. Fingers ran through his hair in attempt to calm now, leg bouncing. 

He was practically startled out of his anticipation by the opening of the door. Sypha held a candle, bundled in thick robes for warmth, half her face red from sleeping on one side. A singular curl was sticking straight up on her forehead, "Grant?" 

He nodded as the woman rubbed her eyes, "I've thought about what you said." Grant took a deep breath, trying to steady his words. "There's a note on my pillow, telling them where I'm heading. Sypha I think we should do it, he should go back to the castle."

And those blue eyes lit up, mischievous smile blooming across her face. They left at dawn.


	4. The Host and His Guests

Trevor liked that fucking piano, the one by the library. He liked that there was a spot of noise in the castle, even if it was just a lone instrument in an empty room. White sheets were draped over the windows, and in the daylight, warmed the whole room. Of course whenever the piano was playing, he could not recognize it. Music may have been played in the Belmont manor when he was younger, time skillful enough to erode that happy memory away. Time liked for you to remember the _raw_ moments, the painful ones. Time only does it’s job if it made you miss what you’ve lost, and the ever persistent movement from one moment to the next made very fucking sure it did it’s job with Trevor Belmont. No music for him. No mother for him, not even the shadow of her eyes or the curve of her chin. No paintings of her's, not for Trevor. He wasn’t allowed the luxury of happy memories, just the flat fee of the bad ones. 

But it was still a beautiful piano. 

He wondered if it was haunted, like the rest of the house seemed to be, by the blond woman or the dying man. Or him, he supposed. All ghosts, and the longer he stayed, all prisoners. Even Alucard, the longest inmate of all. A year he had been here, all alone with the paintings and the silence. Silence that barred this piano, which was the whitest of woods. Standing out another way from the forsaken castle. He laid on the bench, feet planted on the floor and eyes to the rafters. Melodies unnamed floated around him as he got lost in the ceiling’s woodwork. He may have heard pianos before, but Trevor couldn’t tell you where. Or who played them, but the experience wasn’t wholly foreign. It just led him wondering once again, what had he forgotten before the fire?

Trevor had woken up in the library, reclined on the most heavenly of chairs, with the vision of a morning sun rising over the mountainscape. It had been beautiful, even through the stain of the glass. Dracula had a horrible sense in decor, everything colder than the winter months, too much silver and grey. It was all foreboding. Moments where the sun could reach the castle, Trevor felt warm again. Alucard had thrown a blanket on him, the man tunicless after all. He elected to ignore that little gesture, not really liking it. 

Because it just reinforced the truth. Alucard was held here just as much as him, and something made the vampire want to ease the pain for Trevor. He didn’t like that—that honesty. It left him feeling too many things in his chest. He didn’t like thinking of Alucard as anything less than a bastard who was lucky enough to win a fight. Trevor had run his fingers over the woven pattern of a purple dragon on the blanket, telling himself that if he kept thinking of the man as a villain then it would make it all that much easier when he died. 

For now however, he’d listen to the music. 

The woman didn’t make any sounds, just ran misty fingers over the dust on the piano. Trevor swallowed the surprise in his throat, not wanting to scare the apparition away again. But he did sit up, studying the form. Her eyes were all on the instrument, watching it play as if it was an old friend on the keys. The sunlight traversed through her, only her outline truly solid. She was just as thin as the sheets on the windows. 

“I talk to your pictures all the time.” 

Her eyes wandered up to him, causing her to laugh with no sound. It even made Trevor give an uneasy smile, “Yea I bet you think it is funny. Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to talk back.” 

The blonde ghost just shrugged as an answer, drifting around the piano. 

“Who were you to him? Dracula. Why is your picture everywhere?” He never thought vampires could become ghosts, they barely had souls. None of the books he had been given even suggested that. And her paintings never showed fangs. 

The woman raised her left hand, other fingers running over a golden band. She looked at it tenderly, a veiled memory in her eyes. See, all the paintings made her look much softer than she was, there was an air of strength in her posture and her presence that the canvas never captured. She only looked soft now, twisting a delicate ring of gold. It was answer enough.

“You’re his wife?” Trevor breathed curiously. He hadn’t heard about Dracula ever marrying. But there were many things he had never known, that fact becoming more and more revealing. “But you’re human. Or _were_. Apologizes on your, uhm,” Trevor gulped, “demise.” 

Bafflingly, the ghost did not leave him after his crude stuttering. Only again providing him with a shrug. The woman couldn’t speak, but Trevor just had so many questions. Why would someone marry a vampire? Dracula of all of them. And how did she die? Did he do it, or was it just life. That fragile thing. The woman drifted to the door, and the Belmont did what he had been doing for the past three weeks—followed. 

She had feet, and they did touch the floor, but no sound was made even on stone. The ghost walked like she was still living, a sense of diligence, she knew where she wanted to go. Trevor wasn’t surprised, if she was Dracula’s wife then she knew this castle better than anyone. It had been her home, and Dracula decorated it with her image. Trevor didn’t remember what love looked like in his home, so there was nothing he had to compare it to, but perhaps this is what it looked like for Dracula. 

The apparition had walked all the way to the western portion of the castle, Trevor already knowing that if he followed any more that somehow a vampire was going to pop out of the wall to scold him. He paused at the entrance to the wing, the woman pausing as well. She looked at him with confusion; sharp brows pinched.

“I want to but,” Trevor shook his head, he didn’t even know why he was abiding by the vampire’s wishes like some love-sick maid. Even the ghost seemed perplexed at his pause, deciding instead to leave him behind. She walked through a door in the hall, apparently where she had so desperately wanted to go. 

And as one dead person left, another one appeared directly across from where she exited. Alucard didn’t notice Trevor at first, eyes on the floor as he closed the door behind him. Oh but when he did see Trevor the entire man’s demeanor shifted. He stopped, glare as sharp as his sword scrutinizing the man across him.

“Belmont,” warned the man and Trevor raised his hands, taking a few steps back.

“No weapons, I’m not here to kill you..” 

But Alucard didn’t release his darkened stare, “And you’ve wandered into my quarters to do what then?” 

Trevor shook his head, “Got lost.” But that was a blatant lie, because he had worked out most of the castle by now, barring the strangely disappearing rooms, and he knew _exactly_ where he was. But why would the woman lead him down here if it’s just where the vampire slept? It didn’t seem a good enough excuse for the vampire, who continued to tap his fingers in irritation. 

“Well,” spoke the vampire in a low tone, “I suggest you turn around and get lost elsewhere.” 

Trevor shook his head, what could possibly have pissed the man off so much. “Dracula had a wife.” 

“‘Round, Belmont,” Alucard damn near yelled, stern voice making echoes in the hall. His hands now formed in fists. “I’m not in the mood for your questions.” 

Trevor continued to take small steps back, hoping to appease him that way. “Just tell me I’m correct. She’s the woman in the portraits everywhere.” But there came no confirmation from his vampire companion so Trevor continued to ramble, “You never want to speak of what you did, killing him. Did you kill her too?"

The moment the words left his lips, Trevor was pinned to the wall with brutal force. A strong forearm pressed hard against his chest and keeping him flush with the stone. Alucard had his other hand slam next to Trevor's ear with a fist. It echoed in the empty castle, rattling in his head. The blond leaned close to him, shadows covering his face.

"You _will not_ insinuate such things in my presence ever again, Belmont." His name was hissed through bared fangs, venom in every letter. Trevor didn't try and wretch free from the wall, fully expecting another fight to break out between them if he did. Instead he just kept quiet, letting his anger boil beneath the surface. Right now Alucard was the vision of a beast, the creature that Trevor had been warned about, but there was still a hunting knife in his belt that he had no fears using. 

That wouldn't be the case however, red bleeding away from Alucard's wrathful eyes as he took his arm away from Trevor's chest. It would be sore but no damages like before, the Belmont swallowing a dry patch in his throat. The vampire ran a gloved hand through his hair, squinting his eyes shut as if he was just stabbed. A brief flash of worry surfaced beyond Trevor's anger, leaving him once again the only choice to wonder what the hell had happened to this creature. 

A hand was ghosting over his side, the one that received the slashes. "For heaven's sake man, have you not healed yet." It was probably a mistake to reach his hand towards an injured and angry vampire but at this point Trevor had made mistakes a plenty to get himself in this situation. 

Alucard winced away from Trevor's extended hand, "It is fine. Just sore." But the Belmont knew that tone, it was the only one he ever used. Snap at offering hands and they won't be able to hurt you. Won't be able to wriggle beneath the skin of your soul and figure out just how ruined you are. Keeping safe distance between himself and salvation was something Trevor had been practicing for years. 

"Fucking hell, I'm not going to try and kill you." Alucard seemed to growl, a low rumbling warning as he carefully let Trevor approach. The white of his shirt was able to mask the tan bandages beneath his skin, and the Belmont swore to himself for not noticing sooner that the damage wasn't all gone. "You told me you'd heal."

The vampire huffed, holding the hem of his shirt, "You told me you wouldn't travel to the west wing."

A hot flash of anger burned in his chest for just a second, enough to make him want to lash out. "Perhaps it would be in your best interest to not piss me off this close to an open wound." 

Blood had dried through the gauze, even weeks later the slashes were still bleeding. What happened to the man who had healed himself to near perfection in the tower? Alucard gave a passive hum as his truce call. Trevor heard the vampire gulp before he spoke quietly, filling the tense silence in the hall, "Her name was Lisa."

Trevor flicked his eyes up to the man, golden stare situated on a far off portrait of the woman. He looked so lost in that gaze, a million thoughts seeming to pass through his mind. No he didn't kill her, he _missed_ her. "Lisa Fahrenheit. They were married for twenty years. He went mad when she was killed." 

The Belmont didn't speak, drawing away and letting Alucard drape his shirt back over the bandages. But they were still close, and he could smell that mint again. The vampire must bathe with it for it to be this prominent. All anger seemed to wash away with the tide of the conversation, a residual and mutual pain that they shared. He understood loss, it had commandeered his entire life how could he not recognize it in those aurelian eyes? Ash, ash and pain. It always came back to Trevor in waves, the first one beginning to crash so he distracted himself with speaking in hopes it would take him far away from the shore of the flames. 

"Why can you heal anymore?"

Watered eyes looked back to the Belmont, chin tilted. "I haven't fed." It was a clipped response, assuming Trevor would shudder from the words. Because of course he'd eaten, the Belmont had been a witness and a guest to the man's dinners. But no, he hadn't _fed_. Hadn't gotten his fill of a life, spilling down a neck and running down his throat. Alucard hadn't drank dry the light behind someone's eyes. He was still hungry, in the ravenous and demonic term. It did make Trevor flinch, at times he could forget it was not a man with him in the castle, but a predator lying dormant. 

The dry thick in his throat got worse, beginning to choke him and he wondered if he was in danger of suffocating from it. "Don't you have canisters in the basements?"

Alucard titled his chin even higher, as if to distance himself from the act of feeding itself, "Been exploring, Belmont?" The vampire lent his body against the wall for support, all his exhaustion seeming to crash through his body as once with his breathless words. "It's no matter, I won't have it anyway."

And that seemed to take Trevor aback more than anything else, "You're starving yourself?" But the man didn't speak, eyes closed in a pained sort of peace. He was no stranger to self destruction, in fact he and it had been close friends in the taverns. In the woods with faceless strangers, slumming in the gutters with as much ale his beast killings could afford; tossing up any food he has scavenged all over the Belmont legacy. The vampire looked like he was trying to sleep away life right there in the hall. 

"I presumed you'd be happy about that."

 _So did I_.

"Yeah well I don't really fancy cooking so," Trevor shrugged off any real thoughts. Alucard let out a laugh, something that he'd only seen once or twice. The look of apathetic amusement could make Trevor stand a little taller for years. 

White gold spun straight from heaven fell over his face, "Ah I've spoiled you then." 

Trevor gave a tight smile, "Yes, yes, Trevor Belmont; your favorite spoiled princess," he had his hand offered to help the man off the wall. The vampire took it with a tired laugh.

"How kind of you, your highness." On his feet again the man was still taller than Trevor, even if he was withering. Spiderwebs of malnourished veins splintered along his skin. Dull light provided by the blue lamps along the walls did nothing for the warmth of his eyes. The words were out of his mouth before before he could stop them,

"You know you're too pretty to die."

It took longer for Alucard to respond, but from his tone he took it as a joke. "What an odd protest to suicide." Yeah, odd was certainly a word for it. If Trevor could yank back the comment he would, stuff it right down his mouth and lock it up. Alucard had begun walking away, attempting to shrug off any exhaustion with a healthy stride. Luckily, they left the anger and awkward conversation right behind him. 

“This _is_ a castle,” Sypha whispered at the gates before them, and the structure beyond. Grant nodded, stomach starting to twist. He had a knife and a stake fashioned from an old piece of lumber, these however did little to calm his worry. Never had he gone to fight someone before, he was a relative pacifist—unless someone was harassing his family; he’d been known to knock teeth out for that. And in some way he felt very similar about Trevor in the castle, eye for an eye but also Grant thought that he just deserved to be avenged. Or possibly even _revenge_ , if the man was still alive in that cell. 

He was quite lucky to befriend this Speaker in particular, as unbeknownst to him at the time, she was a magician. Churches may have had people terrified of witchcraft and sorcery, but those same churches supported his mother in chains so he was inclined to give very little fucks to their rules. Sypha was strong, and something familiar in her way of wonder about the world. The entire hike up Grant was entranced just listening about her adventures through the world. 

“You’ve been to Sicily?” 

Sypha had nodded, a proud little grin, “And Cyprus!” 

The woman seemed to have been everywhere, leading Grant to continue his questions. Rosaly always told him that he had trouble shutting up but he hadn’t really noticed it until worry began to creep in his mind that he was annoying her. Yet, Sypha had questions of her own. She asked how his mother stood to cook with Wallachian ingredients, and he told her the truth. Not very gladly. He’d test a joke and she’d laugh, making Grant smile in return. Had they not been hiking up to a vampire’s doorstep he may have enjoyed the entire experience. 

“Because of one flower?” Sypha admonished, tugging her robe out from the grasp of a thorned bush. 

Grant huffed, removing the cloth for her as he spoke, “Measly fucking flower. Snow lilies are my mother’s favorite and they only grow this high up.” He didn’t notice her eyes softening as they trotted along. In fact, every moment that Grant wasn’t stealing glances at the Speaker, she was gazing back at him. 

But now here they were, mission awaiting them behind iron gates. If you squinted, the metal bars were twisted in the shape of dragons, teeth bared. So similar to the beast behind them. She looked at him, “Do we knock?” 

He chuckled, peering at the large castle doors across the garden, “We might not get locked up for trespassing if we’re invited. You know, vampire’s and their invitation policies.” 

Sypha hummed in thought, standing on the tips of her feet to see farther, “Do you think he could hear me? Hello!” Her arm was waving to no one in particular, “Vampire man! Trevor? Would you mind letting us in?” 

Grant snatched her arm down, whispering quickly, “Sypha what do you think you're doing!” 

She didn’t seem phased by his trying to stop her, still blinking expectantly at the castle. “Well you said he was lonely, maybe he’ll let us in as visitors.” 

He was about to laugh at the idea when with a wincing hinge, the iron gates slowly swung open for them. “Aha!” gleefully cheered the Speaker, marching right through. “I didn’t think that would work.” 

Grant followed with reluctance, eyes on all the pristine lilies in the derelict garden. He was uneasy, shivers running up his spine from the memories of doing this a month prior. Strolling through a vampire’s yard as if he had been invincible. Rosaly had stayed beyond the gate as he had run in to snag a bouquet, she was smart. Always smart, his father was never remiss in reminding Grant that he should listen to his sister more often. He really should have listened to her when she told him not to go. But here he was again, defying her advice at the steps of the castle. 

Sypha didn’t even pause to admire the magnitude of the place, hopped right up to give a jonty knock at the monster’s door. Grant was twiddling his knife in one hand and the stake in the other, waiting for the worst. For the vampire to appear behind him just like he had that day, grab him by the throat and toss him in a cell. The Speaker didn’t seem to share his worry, waiting expectantly for their host to open the door. 

No one was one the other side when the doors did part, opening up into a grand foyer with blue torches lining the way. He hadn’t really stopped to admire the architecture when he was running for his life, but the place was gorgeous in an awe inspiring way, made him feel as small as an ant who was staring up at the heavens. Even Sypha let out a parted breath of wonder. Before of course, the beast strolled up from the top of the grand stairs, peering down on them. 

His blood was rushing, thundering through his body. He felt his pulse down to his fingertips, the ones gripping his weapons tight enough for it to hurt as Grant stared at the monster who had held him captive for two weeks. Day and night he was locked up in the frigid cell, the only solstice was warm meals served on a solid plate. It was what he had grown to live for day by day, the only reason his eyes opened after sleep. And at the sight of the vampire, Grant’s stomach sank. He felt like vomiting might be his next move, over run with adrenaline. But then—

Trevor.

Appearing right next to the vampire to look down at them, his face twisted with confusion, “Grant?” 

He stood up straight, relief washing away the burdensome guilt that had been eating him up for weeks. The man was alive! So very alive, and unchained. His joy was then cast with confusion, wondering why Trevor would be free to roam. “You’re alive!” he still hollered nonetheless. 

“Aye,” the man squinted over the banister, “Are you a Speaker?” 

Fire was cast between her fingers, but dimmed out when no move of attack was made. “Sypha Belnades.” 

The vampire finally spoke, “You knocked on my door, Speaker.” His voice echoed in the room, the sound seeming to come from right behind them. It didn’t waver her, no not Sypha. She stood even taller, chin tilted with pride. 

“Yes I did,” the words were almost a challenge being thrown across the foyer, but it only drew a twisted smile from the monster on the stairs.

“Yes you did,” he narrowed his glare at them. “Is there a reason the village idiot and a Speaker magician have graced me with their presence?” 

Grant wanted very much to rise to the barb, but bit his tongue for the first time in his life. “We’ve come to free Trevor, he did nothing wrong.” 

The brown haired man looked like he wanted to speak, but no words fell out. Instead the vampire continued to echo down to them, “He lost a deal. Besides, the gates wouldn’t release him even if I wanted them to. Now you,” his voice was sharp, and pointed at Grant, “I’m quite upset with them letting _you_ back in.” 

Sypha cocked her head, “You have no control over your own gates?” 

The vampire raised sharp brows in response, “How did he find you? Convince you to come slay a beast with him—I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.” 

“I wanted to help the man you imprisoned, either way. The knowledge of this is something my people deserve to pass down.” 

The blond man hummed, sliding his hand down the railing as he slowly descended the steps. He wasn’t in the heavy cloak that Grant had seen before, looking damn near human in a simple coat and linen shirt. “Well well, Speaker. It seems my castle deems you two guests. Who am I to turn away one seeking knowledge? Especially, when my home clearly wants you to stay.” 

Trevor gave some resemblance of an annoyed chuckle at the peak of the stairs, his arms crossed. Grant rearranged his footing, desperate to get a handle on the situation. Heart beating louder and louder the closer the vampire got. “But you can’t let him go?” it was all but a plea. 

The vampire continued to seem unamused by Grant, lips in a thin line. “He’s serving _your_ sentence for thievery, noble of you to come rescue him but a fruitless venture. You'll be free to walk however, and whenever you choose.” 

Grant grunted, not wanting to answer to the man anymore. He turned to Sypha, brows soft in worry, “You cannot be thinking of staying here.” 

She answered quietly, “Well. I’ve told my family I’d be gone. They’d understand if I stayed to study..." but even she didn’t seem too confident in her words. He reached for her hand unconsciously, running his thumb over the soft skin as some sort of beg. 

“He’s a _vampire_ He locked people up for a flower, Sypha.” 

But the aforementioned monster was already close enough to listen in, “What you take from the castle, it returns back to you, Grant. Perhaps don't steal.” He dropped her hand, readying his stake again. The vampire seemed tired of him, rolling his eyes to look at Sypha. “Your train, do they stay in the village?” The Speaker nodded. “How long?” 

“Perhaps a week, but they will stay for me.” 

And the beast fucking smiled, how hideous. “Leave in a week then. Surely you can satisfy some curiosity in the interim.” The man gave a small bow, with an imperceptible wince of pain the people before him did not notice, “I am Alucard, master of castle Dracula. You are welcome as long as you like.” 

“Dracula!” Sypha exclaimed, her curious smile lighting up her face. “I thought he was a legend.” 

Trevor offered another laugh from the stairs, “He is now.” Alucard gave a heavy sigh at the man’s words, but didn’t elaborate any further. 

Grant swallowed, leg bouncing with nervous energy, he looked at the Speaker. Was she really going to do this? Just waltz right in and accept the offering of a beast? Grant had seen the way he fought with Trevor, violent and ruthless. The vampire was powerful and in every sense dangerous. “Sypha, I can’t leave you alone with him.” 

“Then stay,” Alucard pointed, hand gesturing towards the stairs. “If you fear me so much then keep me watch. You’ll find nothing more heinous than what humans are just as capable of.” 

Grant looked at Sypha, blue eyes seeming to ask for him to stay. How could see say no to those eyes? And then he looked at Trevor, the man totally indifferent. There was no warning in his posture, no signal to run. What had happened after Grant fled that night? And what was he going to do now? He thought of what Rosaly might say to him, get the fuck out probably. And he thought about how just moments ago he was reminded of how he should always listen to Rosaly...

He didn’t. 

Pocketing his weapons, Grant sneered at the most gracious host. “I trust you as far as I can throw you.” 

The vampire shrugged, heading back up the stairs with Sypha and him in tow, “Get in line.”


	5. Heat and it's Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short chapter but don't worry things are going to pick up I swear

_It was cold. A calm, chilled void. His back to soft and his chest to stone—no. Not stone, but skin. Skin that had stone beneath it, skin he had felt before with healing hands and bandages. In the dark he knew this skin so well. Whether his eyes were open or not, it didn’t matter when no forms could be seen. But Trevor didn’t have to see the hands running through his hair, didn’t have to see the lips that ghosted his ear. He already knew who owned them. He knew the tongue on his pulse, and he very much knew the hard press against his thigh. Soft hair that floated around them, curtaining off their kisses like the end of a play. Trevor cupped a sharp jaw and kissed a sharp cheek. He arched into the possessive lips against his neck, bending towards the man like a wave. Trevor’s nails raked along a strong back, or bit into a pinched waist. The man's golden hair contained all their soft and weighty breaths, sounds just for them. All of their bodies pressed with each other in the dark, slowly trying to consume the other. If he pushed, the other man pushed back. If he danced his fingertips along scarred flesh, well colder fingertips found their way through the mess of monster marks Trevor was left with. Back and forth, push and press, heat and the persistent lack of it—all together in the soft, sweet dark._

It was the first time since he’d been there that Trevor hadn’t woken up with nightmares. Woken up consumed by the white heat of flames, screams bouncing around in his exhausted mind. But the sweat was there, carefully balanced by the ever present draft in the castle. Noise may have escaped him, a relieved sort of sigh as his eyes opened to the morning light. Dreams had never been so kind. Never so _cold_. Sleeping had always felt like fire, smelled like it too. Trevor shifted to sit up, sheets spilling to his waist as he realized that it only smelled like dew on spring’s grass. It smelled like a world that could never fathom smoke. Was that a tear? Jesus, Trevor pull yourself together. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm, completely unphased by the tent beneath the sheets. 

He cracked his neck, yawned as wide as his mouth could stretch. 

There were birds outside, how fucking charming—see he had always anticipated more bats. Trevor swung his legs over the side of _not his_ bed, bracing himself for the chill of the stone floor. As much as he’d love to chase the dream that was slowly fading from his memory, he also had to piss. 

It had been so long with just the two of them in the castle that he was sure more ghosts had come to visit when he ran into the Speaker in the hallway. There weren't many windows, so she held a fireball in her fingers despite the electric lights. 

Her smile was always bright, even if now it was followed by soft words, “She’s beautiful.” Trevor lifted his eyes to the portrait of Lisa on the wall, the one with the lilies in her lap. The Belmont had his hands in his pockets, head cocked up at the picture.

 _She’s different in person_ , instincts told him to say. But a grunt would do. “Her name was Lisa. Dracula’s wife.” 

Sypha’s lips parted, raising her hand to get a brighter look at the piece, “Human?” Trevor nodded. “I thought it would have been Alucard’s relative or something.” 

Trevor squinted at the woman, drawing on his more personal interactions with her. At the mention of it, there was a note of familial resemblance between them. “Huh,” the Belmont huffed, walking passed the woman. “Maybe some great-great grand niece or something.” _It would make sense with the way he spoke of her._

She turned to follow him, “Do you really think he’s that old?” 

“Well,” Trevor shrugged, “He’s a vampire. Do you think he’s younger?” The man had always come off as ancient to him. Carved from greek marble, chipped directly from time, as if an angel came down to breathe life into the creature. How strange that something so unholy could be so pristine. 

“I’m not sure,” she paused on the steps they had begun descending, her hair brightened by the stairwell window. “You know the man better than I do.” 

The words struck him more than he would have thought, knocking him flat on his stomach. He didn’t know _anything_ about the man, and yet Trevor was reluctant to say they were strangers anymore. What he did know about Alucard could be counted on one hand.

One, the man was a vampire.

Two, he killed Dracula.

Three, he was dying of a curse that kept him trapped in the castle forever.

Four...his mother was a doctor? Trevor shook his head, continuing down the steps. “Yeah, and you decided to stay with him despite that.” 

The words were pointed, and she responded just as sharply. “And you offered yourself in place of Grant." 

It pulled a laugh out of him as they made way towards the kitchen. He would never admit that the routine meals may have genuinely spoiled him. "Yeah that's when I thought I could kill him, not because I was looking for a roommate."

"Weren't the Belmont's born to kill monsters?" She grabbed his wrist to stop him, fury brighter than fire flaming beneath her eyes. "Or is that another fairy tale you think I busy myself with?" I am _not_ a lost little girl fallen into the web of a spider, and I would appreciate if you did not patronize me as one, Trevor Belmont."

People just loved to use his full name when they were pissed at him. He didn't yank free his hand, as much as impulse told him to. Because to an extent the woman was right, he thought her incredibly stupid to be this trusting to a vampire. To sleep in his home at some promise of infinite knowledge. Unfortunately, if any bloodsucker was to make good on his promises it was Alucard. At least this time, she chose the right monster to trust.

Trevor sighed, the woman clearly a capable force if push came to shove. Perhaps if she had found Grant first then maybe neither of them would be here right now. He gulped, "I'm going for breakfast. You following?"

Alucard had cooked them a fine dinner indeed last night, the other two guests unaware of just how delighted the vampire was to have more people to feed. It didn't show on his face, nothing ever did. But Trevor knew. Shit maybe that was the fourth finger.

The man slept in late but Trevor wanted to eat and there was always fruit or cheese stored in the cold refrigerator. The Speaker ran her hands over all the kitchen machinery, just as enchanted as she had been before. "Dracula was a mechanical genius, built all this shit himself." Trevor sliced up some cheese for the both of them, a basket of peaches still left on the table. He had never tried one before, so he took to slicing the fuzzy fruit as well.

"Before Alucard killed him," said Sypha with the inflection of a question. Quietly testing if she had remembered correctly. Trevor hummed, passing half the fruit to the woman. Maybe one day he'd get bored enough to learn to cook like Alucard. Relying, of course, on if he ever found a recipe book man for people rather than ogres. 

"And now he's here forever…" Sypha whispered, suddenly distracted by a tea kettle. He instructed her on how to function the sink, twist this knob for hot and this for cold. Soon she was boiling water on the stove with a natural ease.

"Well, as long as he's alive...undead? Whatever," grumbled Trevor, still languid from sleep. The Speaker was pensive, gears turning in her head. There were east asian teas lined up in neat little jars that reminded him too much of specimens, but seemed to delight Sypha as she plucked one with a handwritten label. Maybe Alucard had collected them, or perhaps Dracula liked a spot of tea with his villager. 

She sat at the table with the fruit and cheese Trevor had sliced, giving him a proper thank you. The fuzz from the peach was just a little strange, but it was sweet and full of sugary juice that he couldn't stop from dripping off the corners of his lips. He could still hear birds, spring must have really wanted to bust through the snow this year. 

The Speaker was insistent on seeing the library, and Trevor dragged her through the unnatural hallways to get there. "Didn't know Speakers could read," he muttered from the threshold as she bounced around in the enormous room with glee. 

"Of course they can read." The sound came from over his shoulder. A familiarly startling man appearing once again with no sound or warning

Trevor jumped, heart skipping a beat and muscles screaming to reach for a weapon. "Jesus fuck!" He glared at the humored shine in Alucard's eyes, "Do that again and I might punch you in that weak stomach of yours."

But it was a pointless jab, the vampire playing off it with ease as he slipped into the room, "Yes, your highness."

Trevor watched them from the door, Alucard taking on the role of teacher so naturally as he guided her around the room. The Sypha specifically delighted at all the old spell books. The two whispered, pulling tomes from walls and bouncing back and forth with facts or anecdotes. Alucard looked...normal. 

Not normal for him of course, in fact the vampire was acting the least like himself that Trevor had ever seen. But he looked at ease, skin no longer so papery and stale. Light was dancing in his eyes, bleeding into his movements. By all the gods, Alucard looked alive. Why did that hurt him? Striking right behind his ribs, the sight _stung_. Trevor had never seen Alucard look...well look happy. 

He had to take his attention away, beginning to sting even worse as they bantered so naturally between the books. Trevor was a prisoner—of Alucard's, maybe not—but certainly of the castle itself. It was not his job to make the vampire smile by any means. He was just here on an extended vacation. College or something. To learn. Fill in the gaps after the fire. 

He wasn't here to, what were the two doing? A final glance there way, _sitting._ They were shoulder to shoulder on the floor of a coffee table, books already splayed out before them as they read in whispers. Trevor twitched, leaving the library, he wasn't here to _sit_.

Where could he go, the piano was right down there but that felt too peaceful. Trevor wanted to move. Run maybe. Do something that wasn't so docile and _reading_ and whispering literary secrets. Normally, it was around this time he'd be searching for a tavern to fight or fuck in. That always helped, blacking out to whatever his body wanted. If he wanted to hit something, there was plenty to hit in a tavern. It had been so long since the last time he was in a bar, and that had led him here so he wasn't quite sure he should even count it. His feet moved along while he hung with angry thoughts, passing by a tower entrance at the perfect time to hear distant clanging. 

Finally with something to do, Trevor bounded up the steps with his fastest stride. Maybe if he climbed fast enough the blood pumping by his ears would drown out whatever confused thoughts were plaguing him. It felt like forever, or perhaps just a few seconds. Either way, Trevor panted when he reached the top of the prison tower.

And there he found Grant, just like before. Only this time the man was outside the cell, fingers running over the bars. The village kid flung his eyes to Trevor, only half surprised. They both huffed, recognizing the familiarity of the situation.

"It just feels...odd. Being back."

The man's voice was forlorn, Trevor clearing his throat as he shifted his feet. "And being free to go anywhere," guessed the Belmont.

Grant gave a joking point, "Except the west wing." Trevor chuckled, presented with memories from the day before. Specifically Alucard's face when he first saw him in the hallway. The pure anger. 

"Except there." Wind blew from the broken tower, still with a winter’s chill. Soon even that would fade, and Trevor would witness the changing of the season from within castle gates. Locked up like a fucking princess too. “You might just be making it worse, hanging around here.”

He offered it as some sort of comfort, from one traumatized man to the other. It took him a day flat to get so far away from the manor that no one would even recognize the name Belmont, gone as fast as his stolen horse could. Yet every year, somehow he would end up far too close to that ash pile again and the pain would hurt worse than when it happened. Shock didn't stick around much after he got his hands on beer, and on bodies. The very idea of a comforting numbness only saved juveniles, Trevor had to learn how to get numb himself. So that’s exactly what he did, and never stopped doing really. 

“You have to understand,” Grant muttered, voice carried by the winds, “There’s nothing I want more than for you to be free. Wish I’d never even found this fucking place.” The man was hanging his head, dreadlocked hair covering his eyes. 

Trevor gulped down the words in his throat. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say. Grant was young. Or maybe Trevor was old. But he felt for the man, wishing more that he could make the guilt fade than actually breaking free. Fate was accepted. Alucard would die, and he would go. It made him feel less trapped than the vampire anyway. 

So the Belmont shrugged, in the masculine and casual way people did in the taverns. They would say how could Trevor be sad when he shrugged like that. "I won't be here forever, come on there's a stocked wine room down here."

Grant trailed him down the tower, "It's morning."

"That's fine," Trevor rolled the kid's words off his shoulder. Pain didn't have a sundial and it didn't care if there was light outside. You were going to hurt and Trevor had no qualms of fixing it. He picked a nice bottle of something, not really caring, and poured two flagons of the crimson drink. Only reds for Vlad fucking Dracula. 

"Cheers," Trevor muttered raising the wine, Grant doing the same, "to fuck all."

Grant only lifted his brows in a nulled response, the two of them downing their dry drinks in a burning swig. "Gah, shits awful. People really pay so much for this?"

Scratching his stubbled chin, "You're supposed to sip it over...I dunno politics." Maybe his parents had indulged in a wine over dinner, half of him still only assuming older people drank the stuff. But he wasn't all that young anymore, rushing under table legs to piss off his uncles. Trevor's eyes flew open, "Good god, I've grown up."

Laughter filled the kitchen, and they continued to pour and drink till that bottle was empty. And then the next, conversation flowing naturally between them like two old friends. About hunting, or about whatever else. Grant pulled out a small deck of cards from his belt pouch, and making Trevor remember just how awful he was at Bohemian Poker. Or card games in general. Had they any money to play with, he'd be strong armed into washing tankards to pay for the drinks. 

They took a walk around the castle at some point, abandoning cups all together and carrying a bottle. "And see that's where he stepped on my fucking toe, 'cause I called him a leech." Trevor pointed, grumbling, "'s not even painful just weird, who steps on people's toes?"

" _Vampires,_ " hissed his drinking companion jokingly, drawing a loud laugh out of the both of them. The hall echoed with their merriment as they approached on the library entrance. Grant was reluctant to let Sypha alone with a bloodsucker for too long, Trevor having no doubt why. The next town over could see his affection for the Speaker, he was so obvious. But Trevor wasn't going to push, maybe watching the village kid stumble over himself would be nice entertainment for the next week.

That was of course, if the two weren't sitting any closer than they had been earlier. Maybe the promise of knowledge wasn't the only thing that lured the woman into staying at the castle. Alucard was, objectively, _gorgeous_. From a scientific point of view of course. Close proximity and some shaky banter with something so perfect looking was _bound_ to land Trevor's mind in the gutter eventually. Evidenced perfectly by last night's imagery. Perhaps his wiles we're harder to resist when one is _allowed to leave._

"Bitter, Belmont?"

Trevor blinked, entirely forgetting that a world existed outside of his drunken thoughts. They were in the library, the vampire had said hello...what was he missing? "What? No. About what?"

The blond crooked a brow over his book, the man had pulled his hair back again, as if reading was some strenuous activity. But Sypha was the one who spoke, thankfully positioned a reasonable enough distance away from the man, "The wine. You were making a face. Sort of—" her features scrunch and her lips flattened out in an angry sort of way. 

But it was playful tease, and anger from this morning had been long forgotten. That eased something in him, not like he wasn’t already far past relaxed with the amount of wine in his stomach. “Can’t be any dryer than those books,” he gestured to the many volumes flattened throughout the room. “How long have you been in here anyway?” 

The vampire hummed, “Mhmm, how long has it been since you raided my wine?” Alucard didn’t even look at Trevor while he said it, sticking his sharp nose in the pages of his book as if to pretend he hadn’t even said it. The Bemont gave a fake laugh, giving a glare to the man even if his eyes hadn’t breached the horizon of his book. Grant walked the long way around to Sypha, pointedly avoiding the blond in the chair, to ask her what she was reading. It was endearing really, the simple gesture of care. Did Grant know he was very quickly falling into it for the woman? Or would he have to wake up to that realization months down the road. 

Sypha pushed a smaller book Grant’s way, mentioning something about pirates that Trevor was too tipsy to pay attention to. “Oh,” Grant said in a whisper. “I...I can’t read.” The man must have thought that he spoke it quietly enough for no one else to hear, but both Trevor and the vampire peered over at his words. It wasn't unusual, especially in the villages for most of the people there to barely understand written letters. Trevor looked down at his wine, thumbing over the bottle. He had been taught to read, just like the nobleman he was. Or could have been, more accurately. Had he the time, Trevor could have been a lot of things. 

“You can’t read?” Sypha spoke with no judgement in her tone, just her baseline curiosity. Grant shook his head, and Sypha huffed, pulling herself down from her chair to situate herself next to the man. “Alright let me tell you about it then.” 

Trevor turned away, something about the sight was intimate. It was _caring_ . Kind. His lips pulled into an involuntary smile, _Good for you kid._ Trevor himself was tapped on the arm by a silent hand. Alucard had moved from his seat, gesturing for Trevor to leave with him. Perhaps he had noticed the atmosphere shift as well. They left quietly, Alucard passing one glance behind him with a sad seeming smile. 

“Lost hope?” Trevor mumbled at the look.

The vampire rolled his eyes, striding away, “What could you possibly mean, Belmont?” 

Trevor shrugged, keeping up with Alucard, “I don’t know, seemed quite excited earlier. ‘Let me show you this necromancy collection, oh and here’s a volume on portal dimensions.’ Is that how people like you court?” 

Alucard narrowed his eyes, “Does all alcohol make you this brazen or have you just consumed more than I thought?” The Belmont shrugged and he shook his head, “I have no intentions with the dear Miss Belnades. The knowledge in this castle is of no use to me, and will do good in the hands of a Speaker train. She’s _memorizing,_ Trevor. Not flirting.”

Trevor glared down at the near empty bottle of red, “S’cuse me for the sore subject.”

Alucard stopped in his tracks, and Trevor stopping with him. The blond looked down at Trevor with a sharp, exhausted stare. “There is no subject that is sore, in fact I think you’re more upset than I, particularly about the Speaker. Would any attraction _bother_ you, Trevor?” 

He felt like one of the specimens in the laboratory downstairs, caught between two glass slides. Exposed beneath the harsh glare of Alucard’s eyes. Trevor shifted suddenly uncomfortable in his skin. Would it bother him? No, he thought at first. And then no again, after thinking harder. But after both of those, a maybe blinked in his mind. Was he attractive, yes. Was Trevor surprised? No, he’d been drawn to shiny things his whole life, like some mutant raccoon released unto the population of Wallachia to wreak havoc on it’s spry and beautiful peoples. But did mean Trevor would be jealous? No. So he was left with a solid maybe and perhaps some loose justification for it. As much understanding as his fuzzy mind could cobble together. He wrinkled his nose, “Course not! The fuck would it?” 

The blond had his hands behind his back in a very professional fashion, as if he was about to tell Trevor that his house was about to be bought out by a nearby knight. Clearing his throat, “It is not unheard of,” he began slowly. “For people in close, and solitary proximity to develop feelings of possession. Or attraction, perhaps in this case, that are entirely caused by this consistent and only interaction.” Golden eyes studied the Belmont, “I don’t...fault you for this, and there's no shame in complex psychology that we are just now attempting to understand.” 

This was it. Alucard was giving him an out, a perfectly perfect explanation for all the nasty thoughts Trevor had been thinking. It made sense, when you’re only around one person for so long, biology tends to take over. And vampires were known to be some sort of _hypnotic_. And Alucard was far from hideous. And Trevor was far from celibate. And there were all these reasons that it absolutely made sense, Trevor could take this exit and run with it. Run far enough away that all those feelings festered and died within him. Nip it in the bud, right now.

But this was going to be another classic Trevor Belmont’s-had-too-much scenario, because he laughed at the man instead.

“Don’t worry, it’s not the proximity or the loneliness—I’d want to undress you in any situation.”

Trevor then shrugged, drinking his wine and heading back to his room, heavy stomach making him tired and napping sounded pleasant right now, no matter the time of day. Of course, that also meant he didn’t still around to see what Alucard’s face was undoubtedly contorted into. He couldn’t bother himself with it. It’s not like he was writing love letters to the man, bodies want what they want. And Trevor Belmont wanted to take a nice long nap.


	6. The Bull and the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *wink wink*

By far the best thing about the castle were the baths.

Porcelain clawfoot tubs large enough to fit a harem were outfitted with the same faucets as the sinks, silver hardware glinting. There were chandeliers of red glass dangling like playful teases of blood from the ceilings, light from a stained mosaic that rose floor to rafters danced through the crimson crystals. He had stolen a dusty robe a week or two before, feeling at the very height of luxury at shit-hour of the night. That's what day drinking does to you, he hoped Grant was holding up. Whatever wine Dracula had been hoarding was obviously aged to combat a natural resistance to its effects. 

Trevor could’ve sold his soul to just have a week of heated water and now it was at his fingertips whenever he wanted. The luxury of royalty at his beck and call with the twist of a knob. He liked his water _hot_ —perhaps in a masochistic sort of way. Burned off all the grime and grit and pain coiled beneath his skin. It was as close as he could get to fire without kissing the flame. And the contrast from the cold stone of the floor to the searing heat of the water made a different sort of pain run up his toes, like he was getting bit by ants all through his legs. He settled into the water without a second thought, up to his neck where steam blocked fresh air. It was all hot. Hot enough to fill his lungs, hot enough to make his skin red. Trevor closed his eyes, gripping the porcelain rim of the tub with white knuckles.

 _Why_ had he said those things to Aluard earlier? 

The alcohol yes, but maybe it was his old friend Destruction coming to rear its head. Maybe he expected the vampire to punch him again, knock him against a wall and growl to never speak of such things to him ever again. Sometimes Trever needed that. A healthy punch to the face. Kick biology out of his head. Maybe that would help. Sinking down to cover his face, Trevor ran fingers though oily strands of hair, pulling them through soft water. Water hot enough to make squeezed eyes burn. How long till it started to choke him? Unconsciously, air slipped from him beneath the water. He wondered how similar drowning was to burning alive—perhaps quite similar if it was hot enough. The air would leave, heat would fill your lungs and chase your last breath away while your skin boiled into nothing. More precious air fled from his lips, the ants continuing to bite as cold muscles fought steaming water. He wondered how long it took for them to go, and how long it would be for him if he just stayed beneath the water. Seconds? Minutes? Trevor had a choice but they didn't. 

Eventually his body fought back, forcing him to the surface with a gasping breath. 

“Trevor!” 

He startled, water sloshing out of the tub, for there was a vampire in the bathroom. Alucard was turned and shielding his eyes, loosely dressed and holding the same style robe Trevor had commandeered from the dusty wardrobe. “What the hell are you here for?” 

Alucard shook the robe at Trevor blindly, “What do you think Belmont?” 

“Well can’t you see I’m a little busy!” Trevor gestured to the steam wafting from the tub, visible against silver moonlight from the large window. The vampire dropped the hands from his eyes, far enough away that most of Trevor was entirely covered by the tub walls—apart from a very angry countenance. 

He rolled his eyes towards the man in the bath, “Yes I can see that _now_! Forgive me, you were underwater for so long how could I know?” Anger dripped from his sarcastic sneer. He obviously hadn’t meant to intrude, and how long was he there for because the laces on his shirt were already undone, pearly skin nearly all revealed. 

Trevor sank a little lower into the comfort of the water, “Aren’t there more baths, closer to your precious west wing?” 

Alucard dropped his shoulders, annoyed eyes as he flicked a hand to the window, “Not with views like this one.” The vampire had a locked jaw, “Can’t see the walls this far up, almost like there not there at all.” 

And it was true, not a bit of the black stone was visible up this high, just sloping mountains with evergreens pistoning up, branches no long dusted with an ever present snow. The moon was hung and titled in the starry sky, a pristine clear night. It _was_ a beautiful view. No wonder, stare at it long enough and the reality of the locked gates seemed to disappear. 

“Still, Trevor twisted his head to glare back at the vampire, “should have knocked.” 

Another roll of molten eyes, “I _did_. I didn’t anticipate a Belmont lurking in the depths of my tub long enough to surprise me.” 

Trevor huffed, a little cocky, “Well, now you know. We Belmonts take our baths quite seriously.” 

“Is that why you have no soap, prefer to scrub the dirt with your fingernails like a real man?” The question was half jesting, the other half cockier than Trevor’s had been. He snorted, caught red handed and bare assed. 

“Maybe I was just waiting for a bathing assistant to throw me some?” Trevor flicked his eyes to the neatly stacked bars of decorative soaps on the marble counter by Alucard. The vampire huffing as he lobbed one his way. Trevor didn’t have to look to catch the bar, keeping a watchful eye on the vampire.

“Don’t expect me to scrub you,” Alucard muttered.

Trevor rubbed his wet hands against the orange scented bar, lathering foam beginning to form and swirl white in the water. “Take that as a no, you’re not joining.” 

“As you said,” pointed the vampire, “there’s plenty of baths in the castle.” 

But Trevor presented his hands spectacularly, a gesture towards his body, “But none have this view!” The laugh he got from the man was a familiar one, too tired to fake upset at the comment. A begrudging acceptance laugh—he used it a lot with Trevor. 

“I’m fairly sure you're sweating off pure wine into that water, I’d be drunk dipping a toe in.” Ah, a quick witted point. At least he wasn’t locked up with someone who didn’t have a sense of humor. Trevor nodded in a passive agreement, the granules in the soap doing good in washing off accumulated grime. “Why are you bathing at such an hour anyway?” 

He continued to clean, “Same could be said for yourself, I took a nap, what’s your excuse?” Trevor added more softly, “Too fatigued to sleep again?” It was a genuine question, floating in the air like the steam from the tub with it’s quiet intention. 

“I suppose,” responded the man just as airily. 

“Bath’s big enough to fit all of our misfortunes in, can guarantee that. How many people did Dracula _intend_ to bathe with?” questioned Trevor, mostly as a humor to ease his own painful thoughts. 

Alucard shifted his bare feet, “Perhaps it’s a little dangerous enter a bath with you after that little drunken confession earlier. What if you pounce on me?” Again the tone was with humor, but Trevor could hear the truthful wonder in the question. 

He glared at the blond through his brows, “I’m a man, Alucard. Not an animal.” 

“Pardon me, I’m unable to tell the difference some times.” 

Trevor shot up, water once again rising over the rim of the bath as he pointed an angry finger towards the vampire, “Listen up you prick, if anyone should be worried about getting ambushed by some teeth it should be _me_. Pretend all you like, but I’m no more vicious than you, _vampire._ ” 

The flash over anger was hot enough for him to forget the late winter air, a biting contrast from his bath. Modesty had never interested or worried Trevor, not caring that he was standing naked and pissed. Water had spilled onto the plush rugs around the edges of the bath. He shot air from his nose the same way an angry bull might, lowering himself back to the water as Alucard stayed silent. He closed his eyes to lean his head on the back of the tub, rim fitting comfortably to the curve of his neck and any excess anger seeping off into the warm water. 

He was disturbed by the sound of soft footsteps and a body entering on the other side of the large tub—cracking open aneye to see the other man sumburged to his chest in water that rippled a mirrored reflection of the moon outside the window, otherwise pitch and indiscernible. The man ran a thin fingertip over smooth carvings on the rim of the porcelain, responding indifferently when Trevor cocked a confused brow at the action. “Well you don’t want the water to get frigid, do you?” Alucard rested back, “There’s heating coils, enchanted for a comfortable temperature, in the bath. Some vampire’s get cold as well. Between, of course, ambushing Belmonts with their teeth.” 

The jab was testing, wondering if Trevor was in mood enough to play along with their sharp banter. He let out a heavy sigh instead, bringing his hands away from the rim to continue sudsing the water. The smell of sweet oranges slowly lifting from it’s reflective surface, swirls of milky foam interrupting it’s picture. He kicked the soap over to Alucard, running more fingers through now bubbly hair. The vampire muttered a thank you that Trevor only shrugged to. 

Silence fell between them, soft sounds of limbs moving in the water as Trevor scrubbed his hair, and Alucard strung through his own with an ivory comb. He didn’t think about the silver of the moon, doing it’s favors to the man’s complexion again. Or about how if they both straightened their legs feet would brush up calves. Beneath the water, Trevor couldn’t see the slashing wounds on his ribs, only the top of his rosy scar begging below the clavicle. The man’s eyes were heavy lidded, pre-occupied and unnoticing of Trevor’s intensive glare on the mark.

“Is that from Dracula?” 

Blunt words caused Alucard to pause the ministrations of his hair—but gold eyes did not lift to look at Trevor as he stilled, still nearly closed. The vampire pulled the comb through the rest of his lathered hair, “Yes.” 

“It doesn’t look livable,” stated Trevor, finally drawing his eyes away and dipping his hair in the water. Sound in the tub echoed with his ears in the water, dull knocks of elbows or feet against the porcelain. The warmth of the water threatened to draw him under again, feeling like if he held his breath he could just float away. But he returned to the waking world, hair plastered down, dripping in points down his neck. The strands were always longer drenched, making him wonder if he was going to have to chop it off soon. Alucard took such delicate care of his own hair, maybe he could trim it for Trevor. 

“You thought the wolf’s wasn’t livable either,” mentioned the vampire across from him.

Humming, Trevor canted his head, “Still think that if you’re wandering around with those bandages.” 

“They’ll fade,” just like the end of his words, quietly drifting into the expanse of the room. Trevor narrowed his eyes, wondering if he was wrapped up now. Alucard caught his look, letting out a defeated breath, “If you’re still worried you can look at them when we’re dry.” 

He had no medical experience, except of course on himself, but that didn’t stop him from agreeing. Those were because of him, and Trevor still felt twinges of guilt at getting that man slashed open. Knowing that the wounds weren’t going to cause him any permanent damage might settle that. Trevor used some soap to scrub his face of oils, snaggling stubble also growing a little out of his comfort. Trevor Can’t-Grow-A-Beard Belmont didn’t like it when the patches along his face showed, it made him feel too young. And youth was something that continued to come back and bite him in the ass. 

“How is Grant Danasty fairing,” Alucard offered to the stale conversation. “He isn’t fond of speaking to me.” 

Trevor threw his brows up with a half-chuckle, “I can’t imagine why.” The vampire gave him one of those faces again, and Trevor shrugged. “Not particularly happy about the whole situation. You can’t blame him. He cares for Sypha too much to leave, but I don’t think he knows that yet.” 

A partial smile curved at the corners of the vampire’s mouth, face towards the window’s marvelous scene. “She is quite intelligent, and intrepid. I wish him the best of luck.” 

There could have been a hint of affection there, must Trevor couldn’t tell if it was towards her or her mind. If it was in awe or attraction, and he tried to ignore it’s bugging in his head. Alucard could like whoever he wished, Sypha was a charmer after all. Just as Trevor could feel whatever he wanted. In the end, once more, they were all just bodies. Bodies in the taverns. Bodies in the woods. Bodies he’d share a night with and then forget. Faces and names all faded but he’d always remember the way they’d feel against his skin. Whether those hands were rough on a young and lost man, or whether they weren’t rough _enough_ on a scarred and numbed hunter. He found himself scrubbing harder without intention, scrubbing the feeling of those bodies away the best he could. 

He wondered if Alucard ever had those feelings, or if Trevor was truly alone in his shame. He wondered what terrible crimes the man had to have commited over his lifetime. What villages he bled dry, what kingdoms he toppled in the ancient days. What regrets he was trying to wash away in the water now sullied by Trevor’s own thinking. And then he wondered if he ever thought too much. 

Warm water was all sorts of wonderful, but his fingers had begun to prune. Leaving the bath first, the Belmont trod over to his towel robe, laying across a wicker chair. The air made him shiver, but he tried to bite down the chill as he wrapped it around his soaked skin. Behind him, he could hear the sloshing of water as Alucard left as well, wet feet making noises on the stone floor. Trevor kept his back turned a little longer just in case the man had different opinions on nudity. He took the time to blink at the mountain scenery, a lone owl traversing the night sky. 

Trevor threw a glance over his shoulder, witness to the large expanse of Alucard’s back in the moonlight. A towel of his own being wrapped around his waist, those pale shoulder blades tilted like fine china against the silver light. Muscles layered beneath skin smooth than the porcelain of the bath, moving in an orchestra as he raised his arms to dry dripping vines of gold. Trevor felt his heartbeat in his throat, and distinctly lower places as well. A delicate strength moved with the vampire as he continued to comb through damp strands, tossing a glimpse towards Trevor. The Belmont almost slid his eyes away but there was something in between their gazes. Some mutuality that might have scared Trevor if he didn’t understand exactly what that feeling was. It only worsened his racing pulse. No one blinked, gravity of their stares and the emotion behind them entirely understood.

He could hear the swallow in Alucard throat, the man turning his body towards Trevor to reveal the mangled vision of his torso. Now joining the pink slash over his chest were a row of crimson lines, freshly formed scar tissue puckering up and shining like glass. So they had stopped bleeding, but the scabbing must have only just flaked off, the wounds still painful looking. Yes, he was healing faster than any mortal, but over three weeks for a vampire? He must really be starving. 

Trevor stepping closer to inspect the wounds better, moonlight the only offering for sight. He sat on the wide rim of the tub to be more level with the devistation of a wolf's claws, water slowly draining behind him. Alucard didn’t shift in any uncomfortable way, just moving his arm so the entirety of the slashes were visible. From middle to flank, the scar tissue was fresh enough that if Trevor prodded hard enough blood would indeed well out. The skin surrounding them still red, perhaps in pain. The claws had gone fairly deep, the muscle was no doubt damaged in the fight. No wonder Alucard had been wincing with every movement, losing an entire side to cut up muscle. 

“And you won’t drain some pig to help _this?_ ” 

Alucard shook his head, staying there to let Trevor continue his squinting at the fresh scars. “Why prolong the inevitable?” 

Trevor attempted to use the least calloused of his fingers to brush over the scars, mostly in curiosity but also to see if they still hurt Alucard on a surface level. “Immortals don’t really handle death sentences very well, do they?” The vampire barely screwed his face when Trevors fingers ran over the raised lines, the Belmont peering up at Alucard. “Does it still hurt?”

Wet hair shook with his head, drops landing on Trevor’s robe, “Just tender.” And then Trevor noticed the goosebumps along Alucard’s arms, and he wondered if the man was shuddering because of the cold or something else. The vampire’s towel was swung low, and the cuts of his lower abdomen were deep enough to see. The man was lithe, no trace of the fat on his stomach that most healthy people would have. Maybe all the cooking in the world didn’t help if you neglected nutrition. As it was, the sheer power held beneath that skin continued to enthrall Trevor. Even fatigued by dark magic and starved of life, Alucard was still unbelievably strong. Subconsciously, Trevor had the urge to poke him, test how firm the muscle really was. 

Though maybe he shouldn’t test the boundary just yet if the man was really worried about Trevor _‘pouncing’_ on him. He almost wanted to laugh at the phrase, the vampire was after all more monster than human. And apparently, a skilled enough magician to shift into a truly animal form. The enormous white wolf that had come to rescue poor surrounded Trevor out there in the snow. Danger lurked beneath this clear skin that Trevor was so keen to touch. Maybe that made him want to touch it even more. He would be lying if risky situations hadn’t helped in urging his legs to cling to the next willing patron in a sleazy tavern. The possible consequences of it all somehow making it better. More cathartic. Sex had usually been the same as fighting for him, only he was usually the beast laying immobile by the end. Would it be like that with Alucard? 

If it ever happened, how much of that power would the vampire hold back?

Or did he like to push and break people down to their core like so many other angry men Trevor had encountered when he was young. The ones that shifted his reasons for sex from a want of intimacy to a desire for numbing release. The ones that had broken him first. 

“Trevor,” the blond murmured down to him, gilded eyes cast with worry. “You’re staring.” 

The Belmont cleared his throat, wondering how the vampire could still smell so minty with no products containing it being used. He stood, dangerously close now, their chests able to brush if one of them shifted just a little too far. Trevor cleared his throat, “When you talked about how proximity caused attraction, was it only directed at me? Or were you explaining yourself too?” 

The vampire’s lips parted, brows furrowing in some attempt to formulate an answer. It took a few moments, moments where in the silence of the room Trevor could _hear_ the racing of his heart, beating nervously behind his ribs. “Why do you ask?” 

Another question that lamely avoided answering the first. “Curiosity killed the cat,” Trevor shrugged. Here the cat stood, facing up to a wolf with expectant eyes. Trevor just needed an answer, a clear one. It would damn near be a first for the vampire.

So Alucard tilted up his sharp chin, throat bobbing with a quiet gulp, “I’m more human than you seem to think, lust comes and goes just as with any other.” 

“And now?” prodded Trevor. _Just one fucking answer_ , that’s all he was asking for. He shouldn’t have to pull teeth to get a measly response. Yes or no? Stay or leave? Hate or...flesh. 

Flesh planted itself right on Trevor’s lips. Softest mouth he had ever been gifted, and hands that pulled his chin closer. Trevor was tilted up by the ghost of a grip from Alucard’s hand on his jaw, fingertips still damp. It was slow, the movement of surprised lips beneath Alucard’s answering ones. Trevor had closed eyes but he knew just how gorgeous the man would look in the moonlight, canted to meet the Belmont. The racing of his heart damn near shuttered, sputtering to a screaming halt and Trevor may have ceased to live at all in the moment where he was kissing a vampire. Unable to tell if Alucard was cold because of the air, or cold because of his nature. Trevor’s surprise melted in a second, pushing back on the kiss that had started so subtle. Just as it was in _his_ nature to do so. Alucard only allowed the boiling heat to shift the kiss for a few moments before breaking off, molten eyes down at Trevor with no expression he could name. 

“Deny me,” sighed the vampire, breathless and tired. “For both our sakes, tell me not to continue.” 

Trevor reared back, but not far enough for Alucard’s hand to leave his face. That soft palm could grip him anywhere it liked. “Why?” was his baffled response. 

Alucard’s head tiled, a singular curl dry and poking from his forehead with a platinum curve. “There will be nowhere to hide, when this all collapses between us. We’ll still be trapped, and disappointed.” 

This time he did pull away, anger bubbling from where his rapid heart had just been. “And you just get to _decide_ how I’ll feel? Maybe I’ll feel nothing, maybe you’ll be so fucking placid that neither of us will enjoy anything.” 

His words were biting, but for once Alucard didn’t rise to his anger, staying as stoic as the greek statues that he reminded Trevor of. “Then you’ll _feel_ regret. No action is without consequence.”

“Oh really,” Trevor sneered with a sarcastic snap, “and what is the consequence? We fuck, maybe it’s terrible oh well it doesn’t happen again. Or maybe, your last couple of months are a lot less depressing and I finally have something to do in this empty ass tomb.” 

“Perhaps anger isn’t the best way to sway me, Belmont,” clipped the vampire. 

Trevor threw his hands in the air, “It’s the only way to get you to do _anything_! You’ll only answer questions if you’re pissed, you’ll only show emotion if I annoy it out of you! Maybe you don’t realize how fucking exhausting it is trying to fight for every damn conversation.” 

“Fine!” shouted Alucard, stepping up to get in Trevor’s face. “Ask me anything right now, Belmont. I promise not to keep precious secrets from your desperate inquiries.” His words were quick, and sharp, daggers into Trevor’s eyes and fuel into the fire. 

“Why were you the only one who could kill Dracula?” Trevor spat.

“I had intimate knowledge of his castle and behaviors, and was the only one strong enough to do so,” shot back the vampire rapidly. Those golden eyes were flaming, boring down to Trevor who was flaring right back at him.

“How did you do it?” 

“Tore a stake from a bedframe,” hissed Alucard, “drew it right through his ribcage and set the corpse a light until all that remained were ashes.” 

Trevor’s breath was stolen by his anger, huffing like a beast, “Why did you save me that first night?”

“Because you are an innocent and honorable man who sacrificed his own life for a stranger, and deserve the chance to live one day.” 

“After you die,” Trevor deadpanned. 

Alucard gave a heavy breath, their faces so damn close. “After I die,” repeated the man in a rumbling tone. 

“How long do you have left?” less venom in the questions compared to his earlier ones.

He heard the vampire swallow, features softening from his beastly rage. “I estimate six months to a year.” But Trevor had no question to follow. In the end, that had been the one he had been asking himself for weeks. And now the answer was laid bare. In a year Trevor would be free, and Alucard would cease to exist to the world. 

“And if I deny you, and we never do this again, is that what you really want?” Trevor felt his own chest crack at the question.

Perhaps the hitch in Alucard voice was the same fear in Trevor. “I don’t know.” But it was an honest phrase, not intended to avoid or dance past the question. The man _did not know._ Except what was so confusing. What did they have to lose? Their freedom? Their happiness—which had already been eaten away by those castle walls. What did Trevor have to lose? A Belmont’s dignity for bedding a vampire maybe, but no Belmonts were left to care. Just him. What did Alucard have to lose? Nothing, he was already on borrowed time. So _what_ was stopping them? 

“If I kissed you right now, would you stop me?” 

“No.” 

The moonlight truly did make Alucard beautiful, turned his hair the color of clouds, hair that Trevor’s hands were threading through. The window was the only source of light, but what did it matter when their eyes were blinded by the touches. Refusing to open so long they stayed pressed against one another. Trevor’s back against the wall, and then Alucard’s, and then they fell. The stress of standing too time consuming where there was so much more to do. Like suck a mark on the marble skin of Alucard’s neck. Or cup Trevor’s jaw the way he had been so enraptured by earlier. Making messes of lips and tongues all long each other’s necks. Alucard’s skin was no match for the way Trevor had all turned hot. Rubbing off until Alucard was just as warm. And their clothes had been precarious already, Alucard’s lone towel falling off at some point as they rolled in a battling grasp along a plush carpet. Trevor didn’t even notice, too busy enjoying the strength behind Alucard’s lips. He wasn’t soft anymore, if Trevor wanted to press then Alucard willingly kissed just as hard.

Those teeth never made an appearance however, Alucard keeping them skillfully tucked away somehow. A safe distance from any artery or expanse of skin. But that didn’t stop Trevor’s own teeth, nibbling at any place he could get. Alucard’s bottom lip, the lobe of a tapered ear, or any damn inch of his neck. He bit the hard muscle of a porcelain shoulder, knowing how much he enjoyed the action on himself. It rewarded him a satisfying grunt from the vampire. So he left smiling kisses, trailing up to capture soft lips in another bout of desperate movements. Desperate to consume and dominate the other, Trevor pushing up from his back on the carpet, robe long fallen open. Both long wanting. 

It was the mistaken movement of Trevor’s hands running over the vampire’s side that made them stop and think. Alucard winced against Trevor’s lips, the Belmont springing back in worry. The vampire rocked back, sitting up on his knees to inspect. Trevor lifted up as well, the vision of Alucard painted so harshly in the light, leaving half of him in pitch. He looked angelic, despite his hand ghosting over the scars, an absolute work of art; kneeling and nude in the moon’s cast. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” 

Alucard let out a strained breath, hair falling from his shoulder as he shook his head, “Not badly. Very sore, that is all.” He gulped, looking back up at Trevor, those lips bitten red. “Perhaps we take a little time.” 

Trevor nodded, wondering how fatigued the man would get if they continued right now. Alucard seemed just fine, but he had doubts on how long that was going to last. Time may be good, after all their relationship up until now was snide jokes and fighting. Bit of a change to say the least. The thought of the other man being attracted to him hadn't even occurred until that look they had shared. Both of their opinions of the other laid bare. Even now, what did Alucard continue to hide behind it's stilled face? But Trevor couldn't resist another kiss, both men on their knees as Trevor pulled Alucard close with two hands. This was a softer one, like the beginning. Some sort of apology from the Belmont, working each other’s mouths gently. Alucard nearly melted in his hands. Trevor could worry about the repercussions of hasty grinding on the floor later, for right now he had a very attractive man in his palms.The two of them rose with the kiss, Trevor careful to resist his instinct to pull the man closer by the waist. But he did not forget to nip playfully before pulling away. 

“Is there anything you need?” he asked, half speaking about the wound and half speaking about the very obvious arousals between them. Alucard’s hard length pressing on the top of his thigh.

The vampire chuckled, mouths still together—both hesitant to pull entirely apart just yet. “Nothing of immediate attention, I assure you.”

“Oh,” hummed Trevor with a little disappointment. Alucard caught his eyes, brows pressed. 

“But I have no qualms if you need—”

Trevor shook his head, stepping back a little, “It’s fine. I can handle myself.” He cleared his throat, “Besides, you might pass out half way through.” 

The joke flew with different energy now, suddenly another type tension between them. Alucard hummed, using his height to his advantage to loom over the Belmont, whispering by his ear, “You might want to alter your perception of my stamina before you make a wild misjudgment of how able I am to fuck you into next season, Belmont.” 

The warning was punctuated with a playful kiss along his jaw, the vampire retreating to pick up his discarded clothes. If his feet could move, Trevor wasn’t sure as he stayed firmly planted on the rug. Swimming in his head, the pictures of Alucard’s careful hands torturing him beneath sheets and Trevor getting a hand on the impressive length between the vampire’s thighs. He was in an utter daze, aroma of natural musk settling well with the orange notes still left in the room.

Deftly, Trevor tied his robe, wondering if _now_ he would be allowed to follow Alucard into the west wing. But perhaps it was for the best they sleep separately, lest they scare the two guests of the castle with overtly sinful affection. Alucard’s pants fit him just right now that Trevor had gotten a full look at him, though there was an obvious strain in the crotch. The vampire cast him a pride sneer over his shoulder, “Fascinated by something, Belmont?” 

Trevor scoffed, tying up his robe and moving to collect his own clothing from the floor. Both of them seemed afraid to open the door, a shared fear that if they left then the facade of pleasure would crumble and they’d be left with the reality of their actions. _The consequences_ , as Alucard had warned. But the vampire did turn the knob, standing against the door frame with soft eyes on Trevor. 

“Get some sleep Belmont, the sun is not far off.” 

Trevor hummed, unhappy with the chill of the hallway and all it represented. He spoke as the man closed the door to the now forever-changed bathroom, “Should I expect an especially crafted lunch when I wake.”

Alucard let out a hearty chuckle, “Mhmm, once again proving you only want me around for my cooking, Princess Belmont.” 

“Of course,” shrugged and now clean and yet equally dirty Trevor, “what else would I want you for?” Amusement twitched on his lips, and in return it shone in Alucard’s eyes.

The vampire smiled, “Nothing at all.” The whisper drafted in the hallway, something making Trevor’s body all the more excited. “Goodnight, Trevor.” 

It almost tore him in half, walking away from the man as he breathed his own farewell and they left in opposite directions.


	7. The Raptor and the Painters

Some days are better for Alucard than others, Trevor's noticed. After last night's...escapades, Alucard was having a really good day. From what Sypha told him, the man had gotten up early and had a large breakfast prepared for her and Grant. It was at that time that, sipping his abhorrently sweet tea, Trevor asked the Speaker just _how_ well she and the village man were getting along. To which she slapped his arm and didn't answer the question, continuing her own rant instead centered on the peculiar volumes on goblins. Seeing her in the library was just natural now, usually eating and memorizing for hours amongst the pages. He, unlike the vampire, had gotten up late—his new favorite tea already steeped and sweetened by lord knows who. _Trevor knew who._

He wore his tunic's collar flipped up a bit, just in case any marks had found a home on the skin. Sitting up on the table he let his fingers warm from the fillagried ceramic. Look at him, drinking fancy and sober drinks. Relaxing in a library. His grandmother would be proud. "And then of course all that noise last night nearly kept me up."

The tea almost jumped out if his hands, "The what?" Did she hear the nerves in his voice? 

Maybe not, answering casually as she flipped a page. "An owl decided to roost outside my window. Kept screaming until I shooed it away. Did you hear any owls?"

Blue eyes glittered up at him, and Trevor gulped, "No. Don't think I did." He hadn't been paying attention to anything that wasn't alabaster skin pressing against his body. A spider's hands roaming across freshly washed scars. Anything that wasn't the most delicate kisses in the moonlight. 

He really was a princess, _Jesus fuck Trevor._

"Are you talking about the owl?" Grant strolled in, locs flipped every which way from sleep. 

Sypha perked, "You heard it too?"

Trevor rolled his eyes to mutter into his mug, "Everyone hear this fucking owl?" Grant pulled a chair next to Sypha and the Belmont on the table. He lent casually, and Trevor hoped that maybe some of the man's uncomfortability was beginning to fade with each day no one ended up dead. 

"Annoyed me for nearly an hour. Like it was trying to get my attention." He had a piece of sausage he was nibbling on, and Trevor's stomach urged him to go find the source. 

Sypha shook her head, "Strange creatures."

"Indeed," Trevor piped up unintentionally, talking about a completely different creature. He twisted around, leaning to peer around the strange corners and nooks of the library. "Speaking of, the man just makes breakfast and disappears? What's that about?"

The Speaker woman shrugged, stealing a bite of sausage from Grant like it was second nature. Sure, Trevor wasn't about to comment on _that_ interaction. Grant cleared his throat, continuing to lean with his arms crossed, "I think I saw him outside. Or maybe there's another ghostly looking vampire roaming around."

Trevor huffed, jumping off the table to look for the man, "Don't get me started on ghosts."

The two people in the library watched him go with expecting eyes, silent until the very farthest of footsteps had faded. Sypha let out a laugh once he was completely gone, Grant turning back to look at her. 

"Do you think he noticed?"

Red cheeks got redder with her small fits of laughter, "I don't know. I don't think so, he asked about it earlier." 

Grant huffed, snagging a bite of the breakfast meat he grabbed from the magical cold wardrobe. _Refrigerator._ "Surprised he didn't ask again, stealing my sausage!" It was a playful jab, Grant had no issue letting the Speaker take whatever she wanted.

Sypha rolled her eyes, breaking off another piece of the patty. "But Grant," she cooed, "you have such great sausage."

The young man blinked, perhaps losing all motor function for a few seconds he wasn't sure. She chewed the meat with a challenging look in her eye and Grant didn't think he could ever win over. "You," he expelled, "are a dangerous woman."

The Speaker chuckled, turning back to her book with amusement, "You know I've gotten that before!"

Meanwhile, Trevor threw on his cloak and made way outside. Snow long gone, the lilies were beginning to tilt. They would stay a little longer while the weather allowed, but their season was coming to a close. He twitched a little at the sight of them, knowing that in some roundabout way—that's what he was here for. Sun glimmered down through thinning clouds, flickering across the world in bright patches. They roamed over the mountain slopes, traveling like a bird. He caught the man clipping back unruly vines between some crumbled garden structure. 

"Out for a bit of a sunbathe," called Trevor as he approached. "Trying to work up a tan?"

But the vampire was wearing the hooded cloak they had met in, face half concealed in shadow. The man rumbled a weak laugh, "Very funny Belmont, have you ever thought of becoming a jester?"

Trevor had his hands in his pocket, careful not to stand _too_ close to the vampire. He was having a difficult time judging distance between them now, personal boundaries dissolving with every touch from last night. Was he too close? Or now too far? Maybe Alucard still wanted that platonic space, and it was only Trevor who couldn't care less about how damn close the vampire got. His demeanor was wide open in hopes of it. _A come hither, invade me_ sort of stance. 

"Ah, unfortunately I just don’t have a good stage presence.” Alucard turned as Trevor spoke, dropping dead vines to his feet. The Belmont squinted, “Pruning?” 

Alucard shrugged, “Grant mentioned the garden looked abandoned. Perhaps cleaning it up will prevent any more unfortunate circumstances.” 

Trevor leaned on what he assumed used to be a decorative wall, arms crossed, “I’d say unfortunate circumstances have turned out quite beneficial so far.” He gestured up towards the castle, “Sypha is a busy little Speaker bee, looks like she’s cleared most of the stacks. And well, no one’s in chains—yet.”

There was an abrupt snip of his small garden shears, the vampire giving the most mild of jumps. Trevor smirked, feeling the smallest bit of revenge for all the times he had snuck up on him. Blush didn’t fall on grey cheeks, just a very stern glare that held no real anger. Though, Trevor wouldn’t be surprised if he directed the shears his way.

“Good mood today, Belmont?” 

He kicked a stone, the rock clattering off somewhere, “Not cook-a-four-course-breakfast good, but don’t worry I take it as a compliment.” That earned him another of the man’s famous eye rolls. There was a quick second of worry that the man might actually take his playful shots seriously, his entire body tensing with fear before letting the thought go. He was just rusty, not really having any after thoughts with most of his trysts. Pillow talk felt the same as lying. 

The vampire continued to snip away the vines, sunlight gracing them for a brief second. “I woke early, that’s all. No need to feel omnipotent.” 

“Mhmm large word,” Trevor joked, but it earned him a look from the vampire. Narrowed eyes were thrown over his shoulder with sparks of curiosity. He tried to play it off, adding again, "I'm a big, dumb hunter—remember?"

It was, however, a fruitless effort.

“The Belmonts were...of noble station,” Alucard began tentatively, “were they not?” Trevor couldn’t help how the question made his body rigid, it was knee-jerk to cross his arms and clamp his fists at any mention of his family. For it was usually followed by lies getting thrown about regarding their ‘involvement’ with witchcraft and the black arts. And then that was quite frequently followed by a bar fight or two. So who could blame Trevor when his muscles tensed in preparation for a fight—even if he kept his cool with a quiet nod. “How young were you?” 

Trevor gulped, “Young.” Eyes to his feet, suddenly much more keen to put back the distance that they lost last night. “Young enough.” 

Alucard noticed the man’s behavior change, who wouldn’t? The vampire opened his mouth, for once not a drop of language falling out. Dead and thorny vines were bundled in one gloved hand, shears that were parted just as his lips in the other. He studied Trevor for a good minute or two like that, empty of a comment. So the man hung his head, quiet words, “I’m sorry. Losing one’s family so young is—well. It is tragic,” he brought his eyes up to look at Trevor with painful honesty, “and I sympathize with you.”

He took his own time responding, feeling like the grass beneath them had shifted to eggshells. “Do you remember your family then?” 

A sharp jaw tilted, “Is this another question I’m bound by a promise to answer?” The silence was response enough and Alucard cleared his throat. “Yes. I remember them very clearly, Trevor.” 

How? Trevor could barely remember a thing. What had they looked like? Had his older siblings been kind or was he the oldest? Sometimes Trevor questioned if the things he could recall were real, faded by time. “What were they like?” he asked so quietly it could have been to himself. 

The vampire stared at the castle, off and up like he was looking through time itself, “Kind. Always and utterly kind. My mother was a doctor, spent time assisting the people of her village when I was older while my father traveled the world. Brought trinkets for her and I. Unimportant things, combs and bobbles. Tea kettles.” 

“That comb you had last night, you kept it all this time?” 

Alucard gave a weary smile, “From East Asia, infused with menthol. It’s a wonder it still works now.” And that's where it was—the minty aura that hung around the vampire was something that could be traced back to his bones. His own history that lay hidden in plain sight. Something so human. The vampire sighed, “Your mother painted?” 

Trevor shook himself from his own persistent head, “Yes. Uhm, liked landscapes. Her hands,” he stumbled through his words, somehow pulling a long forgotten memory from the depths of a dusty compartment in his head as he spoke, “they were always covered in pigments. She smelled like linseed oil.” 

Trevor blinked, unaware of how long he had gone without knowing that. Baffled by his own ability to haul it from the pits of childhood shadows. Trevor looked at his own hands, wondering how similar his bones were to his mother’s. If his hands would look her's had he smeared them with paint. A lost part of her hiding in his fingertips.

“I used to paint, in childhood. But I liked portraits.” The sentence was an offering almost, a gift from Alucard to Trevor. A slice of himself captured within the small fact. He knew one more thing about the man now, fingers slowly adding up. _He used to paint_. 

Grant, and the other men of the castle, decided to rummage through Dracula's weapon trove down near the basements, while Sypha politely declined to join—for she was after something.

Many of the books in the library were hand transcribed by Dracula himself, and he referenced more texts belonging to an entirely different collection of books. It made some of the volumes unreadable with so much information missing. However, it also meant that Dracula kept his most dangerous and _powerful_ tomes somewhere else—and how could she resist that? 

So off she went, wishing Grant a farewell and hoping he didn't end up either extremely drunk or locked up again. Gut instinct, Sypha's main compass, told her that whatever Alucard didn't want them to see in the West wing could have something to do with some of Dracula's more obscure items. She looked over her back still, always feeling like there were more people in this castle than the four of them. The owl last night had jolted that for her, the creature blinking with unnaturally blue eyes. Something obviously magical about it. So what did it want? 

Or more importantly, who sent it?

Carefully she crept up to the entrance of the west wing, a place she had stalled and stared at many times—wondering what could the man be hiding in those quarters of his. She didn't _think_ it was anything vile. Guts told her so, and Sypha's guts were rarely wrong. They were right about going to the tavern their first night in the village, she wouldn't have met Grant otherwise. And then they'd never come here, and Grant would have lived thinking he killed poor Trevor out of cowardice. She, well she would never have seen such a gorgeous collection of knowledge. Enough information that even hundreds of her Speakers would have difficulty storing. It still stung when she thought about the both of them leaving their families behind so suddenly, but Sypha had told her cousins she'd be up on the mountain indefinitely. She only hoped they didn't resent her for it. 

The first door she opened was a bedroom, lived in but somehow still so cold. The large bed was in front of extravagant windows, white silk curtains matching the luxurious sheets. But no personal effects. As if Alucard had nothing of his own in the castle. That made sense, the more she thought, who brought luggage when they came to kill Dracula. Did he know he'd be here forever? 

She shut the door, a wave of empathetic grief hitting her from looking at the empty room. Alucard was cut off entirely from whatever life he lived before this, and Sypha—well she had never traveled away from her family before. Something about this structure gave it a sense of gravity, like the largest fly trap in the world. Only _she_ could leave, unlike some other helpless flies. 

There was a door opposite his room, black wood and detailed carvings just like all of the ones in the castle. Silver knob that was in all likelihood, not actually silver. She turned it and opened the door into a large study. Or perhaps a lounge. More windows that any other place in the castle were lined on either side with bookshelves. Couches dotted through and work tables with notes scribbled about. Little model machines were dangling from the ceiling, knick knacks on every shelf.

 _This_ looked like a room. Like it had once been a home to a man and his wife. In fact, a lovely portrait of the both of them was hung between two bookshelves. Dracula looked...almost human. Or maybe it was because he wasn't covered in blood like all the vampires she had thought of when she was little. But he had contentment in his eyes, maybe even a smile. Though the most striking feature of the painting was not the serene depiction of Vlad Dracula and his wife—but the babe she held between them.

It made her jaw drop, unknowingly walking closer with wonder. A _baby_. Vampires could reproduce? His wife was human perhaps they needed a living body to cart the pregnancy to term. Her fingers reached up to brush the frame. The little baby was dressed in white and blue, golden hair similar to his mother's—on which he seemed to be tugging, the way infants do. Dracula's hand was brancing the little boy's back, and he realized that the look on the man's face was _pride_. He was so happy with this little family of his. The baby smiling with illegally round cheeks, and the smallest fangs the world ever saw peeked from his grin. 

And gold eyes. 

Big and shining like all babies but they were _gold_. Not his mother's and not his father's—these were chunks of glimmering topaz framed by pale lashes. Pale skin from mother _and_ father. Fangs. Aurelian eyes. _Vampire_. 

The wind tugged her cloak aggressively, and she whipped around to see the source of the powerful draft. A _v_ _ampire_ , who stood in front of a now-shut door, with his hands in fists and gold eyes narrowed. 

"You are aware you are not welcomed in this part of the castle, Sypha Belnades."

His voice was low, the retreat of the tide before a tidal wave crashed. It was a warning, one that really should have bothered her. But Sypha-gut was holding firm—not a spark of fear. _She understood him now._

"This is what you wanted to hide," she whispered, looking up and behind her—to the happy little family on the wall. "You didn't want us to know that he...Dracula was your father."

Fists did not loosen, but the rest of him seemed to crumple in place. As if the man was paper near to being discarded. Gold eyes met gold eyes as he stared into the painting. She _knew_ the women on the walls was familiar, _knew_ that her and the vampire looked too much alike. It was the mouth, same soft curve. Alucard swallowed a thick pain before he spoke, "Dracula was the legend. Vlad Tepes was my father." Downy hair fell over his eyes as he hung his head, "I killed them both."

If pain was heat—worked with the same radiating mechanics—then Alucard would be standing on fire. And she'd be inches from getting burned herself. Sypha approached him nonetheless, never having been afraid of the flame. "Trevor knows why you had to do it, but he's never shared. What happened?"

Another painful gulp from the man as he wandered further into the study, fingers brushing over old parchments on the table. "My mother, she demanded my father teach her the ways of science. Wanted to be a doctor." A smile that she had seen painted in the halls crept upon Alucard's lips, "They were so rude to each other, I suppose they just _had_ to marry."

Sypha offered a quiet chuckle as the vampire looked to her, all anger from her trespassing long gone. He continued with a haunted sort of look her way, "A year ago, church raiders decided to have a little inquisition—they kidnapped her from her home and burned her at the stake. Like a witch, like I can only assume your people fear everyday."

Her hand had moved to shield the look of horror on her face, stomach clenching so hard that her other arm wrapped around her middle in protection. In defense. It was no fairy tale to hear of Speakers getting ambushed and burned alive—magician or not. And so donned Sypha with her short hair, their people all aware that if a woman was seen holding any power then it would be her on the stake next. She'd only ever witnessed it accidentally, when she was quite young and unable to control any element. Her infamous gut worked even back then as she scampered away from her train for no reason at all. It had been horrible, the smell of wood and flesh burning up. It was too terrifying to scream, her little body petrified at the cheering around the bonfire. Bones were clear through the flame but she had no inclination on who they had belonged to. Just a stranger perhaps, the wrong place or wrong time. Her grandfather had found her, yelled and hauled her off before any of the townspeople noticed a little Speaker girl in their midst. She never thought about that, just some childhood happening that you never understand the weight of until later. 

And later was now, Alucard had lost his mother to the stake. In the name of a precious God. The man did let a tear slip, but just one—thin enough to be a trick of the light. "She had worked so hard, trying to get him to see humans as people—not pests. And one action of one bishop ruined it all. My father was distraught, started building an army. I knew his old war plans, stumbled on them when I was younger." The vampire sighed at the papers on the table, "It would be the end for humans. The humans she loved." 

Sypha's head tilted, "So you killed him. Before anything happened."

This smile was all pain, all grief. Not a hint of pride anywhere on his demeanor. Patricide was no easy feat, Dracula or no. "Yes," he whispered. "Nearly killed me in the process." His hand rested on his chest where a red scar was just barely peeking out from his collar. "Occasionally I wish he had."

The words stung the Speaker, never one to take self-infliction lightly. The man had rested on the arm of a couch, as if the story had physically exhausted him, and behind him were his parents—once such a joyous family. All ruined so quickly. But then the world saved, just as quickly. This man had singlehandedly protected the country from destruction and here he was, rotting away for the rest of his life. Stuck with the ghosts of the people he lost. 

"Umph—" was the sound Sypha knocked out of Alucard as she hugged him impulsively. Sypha-gut said do it, so she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed. The man was tense muscle beneath her embrace but she didn't care. There were no words in all the languages she knew that could ever console him the way she wanted to. It was blind hope that maybe this would—half apology and half a thank you. Entirely honest.

His shoulders did eventually fall, hugging her back with surprisingly strong arms, his face tucked in her bundled robes. They stayed like that for a good amount of time, Sypha wishing that things could have been different for the man, that her gut had steered her here earlier. She had never been alone in her whole life, and here a hero was dealing with it every day. 

Of course except Trevor.

Sypha pulled away, "Does Trevor not know?"

Alucard shook his head, "He does not. And he _will not_ , Sypha." At her look of confusion he continued, "It is simply not something I am willing to share. Not right now…"

Stepping away, the woman nodded. "I won't tell a soul. But," she paused, "your curse. Your _father_ did this to you."

Humming, Alucard got up fiddled with an exotic looking bookend from the shelf.

"The castle has a power and a will of its own, I killed it's master so this is retaliation. My father was a genius, a magician and scientist—but no, he never accounted for his own blood to be the one to kill him. The castle harms equally."

She couldn't help a spark of anger in her chest, "But there must be a way to free yourself from it, there is always room for error in magic." She had accidentally given herself frostbite one too many times to forget that.

His brows lifted, "There is."

"Of course!" She cheered then sank, "What is it?"

His owl swooped down, landing on his outstretched arm. In the bitter night, Hector was far from his comfortably warm weather, bundled in thick black cloth. His owl's talons did not grip tight enough to pinch through the wool as it blinked down at him with electric blue eyes. "Not a trace of him, then?" 

Again the bird blinked, its head tilted in conversation. 

Hector grunted, eyes up to the mountain, he was far away, observing from a hill. The castle spires were well hidden between the rigid evergreens, but Hector knew how to look. It would be a few days hike still, maybe less if he started now but the little blink of light at the base of the mountain discouraged that. He despised humanity and all their flaws, but Hector needed to know what had happened to his friend.

If Dracula wasn't in his castle—then where had he gone?

Gathering information wasn't his strong suit, _speaking_ to people wasn't either. He preferred be alone with his work, and away from others as much as possible. But if something had happened to the vampire, perhaps the little village people would know about it. He did travel on foot through the countryside, perhaps they had seen the man walk away from his castle. But then that didn't explain who was in it now. 

Taverns, he knew, were the places to find this information as most people were buttered up by tankards of cheap beer. It left less work for him and made him easier to forget. Just a washed out memory that would fade in the morning. 

So trudge down to the village, Hector did—hair behind his hood just in case this town had a reputation for killing off the strange. Night had just fallen recently, but the singular tavern was bustling all the same. His owl, Sahcil, gave him a little pitch as he paused outside the bar. 

"I won't be too long, you can manage."

She cooed again, much louder and more insistent. Hector rolled his eyes, fumbling in his leather pouch for a piece of food that would please the bird. He threw the treat far off into the evergreens that laced the tavern. Sahcil taking flight and disappearing into the wood.

No one spared him a glance, the worst bard he had heard since Enisara was playing and keeping the patrons enough occupied. Hector couldn't help the wince at a piercing cord that echoed from the lute—settling himself at a small empty table in the corner to just observe for a while. So far, apart from the bar, the only standouts in the building were the two dark skinned women behind the bar. 

One was older, but familial connection was clear. They worked and refilled with the elder staying to tend the counter. With the traffic of the place they didn't notice him at first, no matter he wasn't here to drink. Hector zoned out, focusing only on the conversations around him. It was the usual tavern chatter— _did you hear who screwed Doramo's milkmaid? Fucking wolves took my chickens again._

"Them wolves be a'coming down from the mountain," grumbled an older man just a table away. Hector tilted his head slightly to listen more.

"Springs bringin' em down?" questioned another man at the table.

The first shook his head, "Suppose is that fuckin' beast the Danastys keep going on about. Scaring em down!" The table erupted in laughs, but it only made Hector more stressed. Beast? Had Dracula reverted to older ways? 

His train of thought was interrupted by the barmaid approaching, wiping off her hands on a rag that was tucking into her leather belt; the women's skirts decorated with ale spills and wine stains. Her smile was bright however, freckles on her dark cheeks standing out like paint splatter. He lost all desire to listen to anything but her words, “Good evening, I haven’t seen you ‘round here before. Traveler?” 

Hector nodded and she had her hands on her hips, “Looking for a drink traveler?”

He sat up a little straighter, wondering if he smelled like his dead animals, all of the sudden insecure, “Uh, house favorite I suppose.” 

She nodded, her hair hidden by a modesty cap but one stubborn curl was poking out and twisted tightly by her eyes. “Comin’ right up. Staying in town for a bit?” 

Hector paused, “Well—perhaps.” Worry got the best of him, and she was off to get his drink before he could ask anything about the apparent _beast_ on the mountain. First, Sahcil tells him that the vampire was out of home, and now there’s a monster living above this village. It made his skin prickle, wondering if something terrible had happened. But the barmaid didn’t leave him too much time to think, returning quickly with a tankard. 

She refused his coin, “No need, pay when you're done—we can keep tally.” Hector tucked his money back away then, hood dangerously close to slipping off. “So what brings you, traveler?” 

“Looking for an old friend,” he chimed, reluctant to taste the beer while she was there, just in case it was as bad as the bard. “You haven’t happened to see a man come down from the mountain?” 

And that bright face cracked, falling into a heavy glare. Her entire body turned to stone, hands pausing their motion with her rag. The sudden shift in demeanor rang alarm bells for Hector, curious on what nerve he had struck. “You a hunter too?” 

_Hunter_? A hunter had been around here? Panic bloomed in his ribs, worried that someone had gotten a hand on his friend. Perhaps he should have sought out Dracula’s wife, if he was traveling then maybe she knew where. 

“Not as such,” Hector kept his voice as low as her’s, “Was there a hunter here before...for the _beast?"_ His wild guess must have been right, because the woman took a seat across from him, eyes darting around the tavern.

“Damn right there was, got my brother back from the monster’s grasp. Must have tortured Grant too much because a few nights ago, the bastard leaves us a note that he’s gonna go save that poor hunter.” The woman was irate, but kept it in for the most part, venom only passing through her words. 

He lent closer, curious and confused. “Your brother was taken...do you know by what?” 

She huffed, flames in her eyes, “It _looks_ like a man.” The hands she had on the table were flexing with stress, “Got teeth and claws like a monster though. And _magic_. Appears out of nowhere like a ghost. And then—” she exclaimed while she lent back with her arms crossed “—my dumbass of brother decides it’s a bright fucking idea to go back! After he was set free!” 

She didn’t seem to care much about others listening anymore, obviously more angry than worried. Hector couldn’t help but keep his head even lower as she continued with furious words, “Can you believe it, going back? He probably got locked up again, him and that little Speaker and ma’s already got so much to deal with in this town but Grant had to make a fool of himself—leaving us to deal with the fall out. Do you know how exhausting it is having half the village come up and ask if your brother ran off back to Africa? How could he be so selfish!” 

The drink she had given him was now good company during her wrathful ranting, and it kept him preoccupied while the rest of the bar seemed to be taking an interest in the woman’s monologue. Hector gave them a weak smile over the rim of his mug, hoping they didn’t think _he_ set their precious barmaid off on an angry tangent. 

Her arms were crossed over her chest as she huffed, “My name is Rosaly. Did you lose someone up there too?” 

Hector gave a flat smile, “He lives...around here and I’m looking for him.” 

“Well,” said fire-breathing Rosaly as she stood up, “No I haven’t seen a man come down from the mountain that ain’t been my brother. Do you have plans of going up there?” 

The white haired man nodded, “Tomorrow.” 

Rosaly nodded, “I’ll meet you outside at day break then, if that monster hasn’t killed Grant by now then I’ll drag him down here for ma to do it.”

Never had he been the talkative type, or the type to exclaim counterpoints when he disagreed. Hector kept to himself and his work, being out in the open like this was already far away from his comfort. So when the woman got up and left from the table—plans apparently decided—Hector didn’t have enough experience to argue. Apparently he’d be having a traveling companion up the mountain tomorrow. 

It made him sink lower into his coat and into the chair, arms wrapped around himself, “Fuck.”


	8. Skies and Curses

There wasn’t a moment he did not think of Lisa’s knock on his door.

For so long, days had become the lengths of blinks to him, unable to distinguish one month from another. The rise and set of the sun, hidden by curtains and brick. A fortress built to move against the will of time, of space. Against’s God’s almighty laws and all the things he liked to ‘love.’ But now everything was sharp, and crisp. Hours came back to him, _time_ returned to his life. All because a mortal hit his door with a little hunting knife. 

_I want to be a doctor_. 

All she had to say, and he had become putty in her fragile human hands. The great Vlad Dracula Tepes, melting. Lisa his flame, and he the helpless wax falling to her whim. Her _heat_. It was so naturally human, the need to stay warm. The very presence of it was long forgotten to him—ice had crept it’s way into every vein of his body. It’s a wonder he could still move, and had not locked up like a statue by now. A second’s glance at eyes, as blue as a sky he hadn’t been able to see in centuries, and he melted. 

Just for her, always for her. Every movement of his warming limbs just for her. 

And at first he did a fine job of hiding it. 

He kept himself as far reserved as possible, only polite words and never encroaching. Showing her his old medical portfolios, he made sure to never let cold fingers brush warm. Conducting chemical extractions, he kept careful watch on the distance of their shoulders—lest elbows brush. And then his world get turned upside down, and Lisa Fahrenheit leave him alone again. There was a screaming in his body, a desperate cry that he never wanted to feel so lonely ever again. _Please don’t let her leave._

“How often did you travel?” she asked one evening, hands covered in ink from all her notes. He blinked across the laboratory startled by her question that seemed to have been asked from nowhere in particular. His own scroll was one written eons ago, that ink long dried. It seemed to be like that with all things surrounding them. She was new, and fresh—so very alive. And he was a withered book, paper beginning to disintegrate before Time’s very eyes.

Vlad brushed a fingers over that dried ink, “I used to move this castle every decade or so. It was important to establish strength in all corners of my dominion.” 

“ _Was?_ ” repeated the woman, head tilted and braid nearly undone from her intense focus. 

She saw the stakes in the yard, she knew the stories. Becoming the lord of vampire’s didn’t encompass puppies and kittens. He killed, slaughtered for his title and prestige. There was a known hush between the vampire kingdoms—Vlad Dracula was the _absolute_. No one dare dip a fang into one of his Wallachians without explicit permission, or god rest their immortal souls. How would she feel, knowing that in a society that she had never heard of—she was _his._ It made him twitch a little, feeling suddenly disgusted by his power. 

“All the glory has settled. There are no more prizes to be won,” he declared quietly. _Except..._

But he’d never be fortunate enough to be spared a moment of her thoughts. He was a murderer, a self-proclaimed consumer of humanity. A destroyer. And she was a healer, there to mend his endless damage. Fresh ink, on ancient paper. 

She cooked for herself, the vampire long forgotten the skill, but he never let her eat alone. He always accompanied her when she requested to go into town and gather whatever she desired. Part of him thought she _liked_ having him at her beck and call, for there was an ever present smirk whenever Lisa declared that she needed a very important ingredient _right now_. He was no fool, she wanted him out with people. Wanted him to see her interact with others like some sort of display. _You give them money like this, you ask politely like this._ His cloak was a shield against a typically setting sun, though it still prickled to be out. Hairs on the back of his neck rose as if there was a predator in his midst, when it was only a star in the sky. The market people did look at them strangely, always arriving so late in the day and Vlad always two steps behind Lisa. For polite reasons of course, but to any other person it may have looked like he was allergic to her. 

Lisa found his stove machinery quite intriguing, for food and for her herbs. He sat at the opposite end of the table from her at first, but eventually Lisa moved herself closer and closer to his seat. “I can’t hear you from down there,” she admonished, chewing her freshly cooked potatoes obliviously. If he wanted to think something of it he could, but he really rather not. She was his apprentice, his student nearly. Even if Lisa picked up the trade like a fish did to swimming. It wasn’t right to ruin her learning with romantic interruptions. So Vlad sipped his wine at dinner, no food in front of him, and thought _absolutely nothing of it._

It took four months of constant hints before Lisa finally cornered him in the lab one night. The sun was about to peek over the horizon, he could feel it on his neck. They had stayed up lured by a long lost connection that the woman had picked up on from his Arabian texts. He was scrutinizing some of his even older works just to double check when a hand rested on his own. Within a second he saw himself snatching that hand away, screaming at the woman for the improper action and locking himself away. But his hand stayed there, her warm one atop it gently. 

Reluctant eyes moved from their hands to her eyes, worried about everything in particular. But the sky drifted along in those eyes, and the reflection of the lights gave him a sunlight that he could only see in paintings. She smiled, “It is late, perhaps we take a break for tonight.” 

He nodded, once again drawn to the sight of their hands. As if physical touch was a foreign species that had just crawled out of his floorboards. He could feel her pulse even now, her wrist floating so close, he could feel it in her fingertips that rested on the back of his hand. Lisa melted him down to the wick. 

“Escort me to my room?” 

_But you know where your room is._ Yet that was something they both knew. A truth that gave the question it’s meaning. A spark flickered in stale veins, _heat_. Possibility. New. Something the centuries couldn’t offer him anymore. Only she could. Only Lisa could ever give him a world he hadn’t traversed times over. Only she could punctuate so brazenly that it knocked him off his feet. Put his planets out of orbit. Only her. 

“Of course,” he nodded—the both of them taking their time to clean up the lab quietly. The feeling in the room was something just as new to him. Vampires only cared about conquest. Winning or losing. It came into every aspect of life—even love. Someone always had to end up the conqueror. There was never a question so delicate as will you escort me to my room. No need to be delicate as a vampire. No need to have a quiet air. 

She hooked her arm around his, as if she feared getting lost. Her clothes he had old staff sew just for her, not the second week she was there—Lisa’s dress as blue as her eyes, with an apron stained by experimental salves and note ink. He tried to keep his eyes forward, but they always fell to the smooth curve of her shoulders, the warmth in her cheeks as they walked in silence. Blue eyes connected with his, and the smile she gave should have been written down by poets. 

Her room approached too quickly, worry creeping up into his heart that somehow he was going to lose her in that threshold, and never see sweet Lisa again. It made him want to cling to her, keep her close like some hanging thread. When she would let go to retreat to her room, he may just collapse right there in tatters. Sweet Lisa stopped at the door, unhooking her arm.

"Thank you, Vlad," she smiled up at him. Lisa was no short woman, but everyone looked small to him. 

He nodded, giving an equally polite response with the expectation that she'd open her door and slip away. Fall through his fingers like sand. And once again, this woman tossed away his expectation—seared it with the sunlight in her eyes. She didn't open the door, instead rising to her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. 

It burned, only in the best way, where her lips pressed softly on his skin. He half expected there to be a scar in the tender shape, tattooed for eternity right on his zygomatic. The most precious gift he had ever been given and it made him still. Even the stale blood in his veins must have ceased to move. Time itself slowed to a halt—his world so thrown from gravity that it no longer spun.

She hovered close, still balancing on her toes and blue eyes scanned red—reading them for response. _Well_ , he told himself, _what are you doing to do?_ Lisa was waiting for him, those dangerous lips haunting close to his own. He could feel her warm from here, so different from his room temperature. She swallowed in a nervous gulp, and he watched worry spread across her face.

He kissed her just to stop the worry—refusing to see Sweet Lisa doubt herself when she had always been so strong. The centuries it had been since he dared even care about companionship made him feel just as insecure. Pressing his lips to the lively body of a human, softly in a passive fear he might break her. People were so fragile after all. The blood that traveled beneath her lips left a tingle on his own, some sort of call to the desperate urges in his chest. 

The woman tangled her hands in his hair. Wrapping arms around his neck to draw him closer, as if it wasn't enough. She needed to be closer until there was no space between them. He was hesitant to oblige, nails so sharp and hands so strong—unwilling to damage his Lisa. But that wasn't good enough for the woman of Lupu, she bent up to kiss him more fervently. Months of unsaid words coming along between them. He wanted—wanted so _intensely_ —to give her everything she craved. Wanted to lift her off her feet and keep them flush for the rest of time. His fire that clung so greedily, melted him into a puddle right outside her bedroom door. 

After that, Vlad kept no space between them—especially at the markets. No villageman's eyes dared to wander to _his_ Lisa. Because she had given herself to him completely—offered her whole heart with no fear. And he was all hers, to drag to any market, to reach any shelf. If Lisa asked to be escorted to her room, that is what he did. If she asked to escort her to the bed, that is what Vlad did. If Lisa asked to travel to Ireland to see the old druids work, then that is what he did for her. He let his body protect her from any suspicious eyes in public, most of them suspicious because of him. But she refused to walk in front of him, adamant about linking their arms and walking as equals. She was not his superior and he was not hers. They were partners in knowledge and heart. 

He'd gifted her new trees for the greenhouse, noticing her buying more variety of fruits from the market so perhaps she wanted different options at home. Lisa did like to preoccupy herself with her plants, for work and for enjoyment. If he couldn't divine her place anywhere in the castle, she was most certainly in her greenhouse. The woman was tending to cherry sapling, tying thin stakes to its wimpy trunk so it didn't lean.

He watched her from afar, the heat of the structure forming a little bit of sweat on her forehead, golden strand stuck to the skin. He didn't remember what human senses felt like, he only ever knew how sharp his sense of smell was now. She smelled human, bathed but laboring with shears and small lumber for her tree supports. The smell of hot blood rushing beneath smooth skin, salt of her sweat and— _no_.

No, that was wrong. 

He shifted directly behind her, leaning down to press against her neck. "Vlad! You startled me," she laughed, continuing her work as he pressed behind her. Yes, there was the smell of her surprise but right beneath it something was _wrong_. He sniffed her neck, the tang of blood so strong just at the curve. But then he moved to her hair, her shoulders. It was hiding somewhere on her. The _wrong_ smell. It was no use, so he spun her around; his lovely Lisa letting out a yelp.

"Vlad, what are you—" she was interrupted by a quite strange sniff right at her lips. He needed to smell every inch of where he had kissed her, in case it was hiding there. "Is this another Kamasutra ritual?"

He lowered himself, hands on familiar hips as he huffed any place his lips had touched—completely distracted from her confused laughing. "That tickled, Vlad—ah! Stop, that—" the woman squealed, trying to wriggle away. She had always been so ticklish. He paid no mind, the smell buried beneath her layers of clothes, but slowly he had inched closer to the puzzling origin. 

Of course it was very near to a compromising spot for her, and this time her cry was not in amusement, shoving his head away with all her strength "—Vlad Tepes, you stop that right now!"

His hands remained on her hips, eyes zeroed in right next to the soft inside by her hipbone. It was there, something right next to the crook of her thigh on her right side. He _had_ placed kisses along that skin before—quiet recently in fact but this was too intense to be any lingering aroma. It was something all its own. Something _wrong_.

" _What_ are you doing?" She crossed her arms, glaring down on him as he knelt in front of her. 

He briefly glanced to her perturbed expression, only the smallest bit guilty. "Will you allow me a blood test?"

"For _what_ , Vlad?" 

He took one of her warm hands, smelling of pine and greenery—Lisa letting him draw it towards him with complete trust. His hunger hadn't driven him in centuries, bloodlust such a fashion for younger vampires. "Please, I just need a moment."

Anger faded to worry, and she nodded silently. The very tip of his fang snapped the soft pad of her finger, delicious taste if blood welled out in a little pearl and rested on his tongue. There was of course, the taste of her—of his Lisa Fahrenheit, of her strength and her intelligence that flowed through her very veins—but then an aftertaste that should never have belonged there. Something _vampiric_. 

"Vlad?" breathed Lisa softly, her daylight eyes that gave him all the blue skies he could ever dream of. He savored the taste, her fear even sharper in her blood. Oh but the vampire couldn't stand to frighten her, and it made his chest contract in an aching pain to know that he was just as frightened as she. 

The vampire had been very aware of her cycles from the moment she stepped foot in the castle, and they always made her bitterly hungry for olives. It would have been approaching in the next few days but he had a sinking fear that it may not arrive. He held her hand close, pressing his nose to her wrist, thundering pulse loud enough for a vampire three miles away to hear. Sweet Lisa, his to love and his to protect. His healer. 

She let him press close to her lower abdomen again, right where her thigh met her torso in the curve of soft skin. While there was the intense smell of _her_ , hidden beneath it all was just the tiniest bit of _him._

Her hand combed through his hair comfortingly, attempting to ease the panic she saw in his eyes. But his head was bowed enough to where she did not see the smallest tear run down his cheek, only felt the most delicate kiss on sensitive skin, _"Oh Lisa…"_

While typically she craved olives, now Lisa craved oysters. Or trout. Or crab. Anything that swam, she wanted. He moved the castle towards Braila, by the shore to keep any of her hunger sated. Typically she was a fiery woman on any day if Vlad ever stepped on her toes wrong—but lacking in sufficient bass may just earn him a staking. Of course she'd weep a bit and apologize after any outburst, that didn't mean he took them less seriously. The embryo continued to grow quickly, Lisa getting rounder and rounder by the day, something she was vehemently against once it started impeding her daily strolls through the castle. He consulted every volume, journal, or personal resource on dhampirs—particularly how dangerous it was to carry one. The occurrences were sparse, sparser even for ones born of a greater vampire and it left him with few true resources to help Lisa. 

Of course his first action was to marry the woman. 

Not as if he hadn’t planned on doing that in the first place, but he proposed right there on his knee in the greenhouse. She denied, of course, which gave him more time to plan a more meaningful proposal anyway as she adjusted to the news. In fact, she came to terms with her pregnancy rather quickly—beneficial because quick was the best word to use when speaking of the matter—chin tilting the way it always did when she felt confident in herself. After the initial shock, she carried the news with pride and strength. It was one more challenge for her to beat, one more expectation to crush. She was not weak, and the vampiric strength of the baby never slowed her. Lisa carried on with her studying and assisting those in Braila, all of whom loved to comment on what a wonderful pregnancy glow she had, assuming it had been nearly five months when in reality just two. Lisa took it all in stride, and when she was finally ready the woman asked _him_ to wed. That very moment in fact, as she had picked herself some snow lilies for a bouquet. 

He had stuttered at first, solely because she’d proposed in the middle of a hallway with no forewarning, but he allowed her to drag him away to a Speaker caravan that had been parked on the outskirts of Braila. “One of their Elders was suffering from a terrible ear infection, they owe me.” There was no reason to argue, whatever Lisa asked for from him she received. And if a human wedding is what she wanted, then that is what she’d have. In the dark of course. The Speaker’s bonding ceremonies weren’t drawn on by Christian roots, yet still respected in the country of Wallachia and a true marriage. Well, it was by the peoples whose opinions mattered to Lisa—not the church's.

So there they married, right in the mud of a port town, flowers falling from her hands as she held his face during their kiss where he could taste her smile. 

“What of a name?” she asked as he cursed at his paint. The horrible thing splattering all over the floor without his intent. His temper had been long cooled yet it was things like this that reminded him why he had one rampaged—damn paintbrushes. He’d be happy if he never saw one again.

Vlad huffed, doing his best to not display his anger, “A name?”

“Yes, typically children have them,” she shot playfully. Mischief sparkled in her eye as nimble fingers sewed shut a stuffed dog, just as she would a wound. 

He looked back to the patchy coat of color on the wall, arms crossed, “Considering I have every seer from here to Beijing telling me we’ll be having a daughter, perhaps we start there.”

His wife scoffed behind him, four months along and already her body was beginning to shift in preparations for the last months of pregnancy. It made him stutter every time he noticed the minute changes, what if the child did more damage than anyone expected? _What if…?_ No, he hadn’t allowed himself to think like that since the beginning. They would be fine. They would survive, he knew it. And if not, he had ways of undoing it. 

“I don’t think it’ll be a girl.” 

That made him furrow his brow, “No?” 

“No,” said Lisa plainly, stuffing a stray ball of fluff right back into the dog’s foot. “Your seers havn’t based a thing on any medical studies of the child or me for that matter. They have no evidence.” 

His heart fluttered like some pansy in a romance novella, because that was his Lisa. Her mind and her stubborn bones. Everything that had lured him in and tied Vlad ‘round her finger. He was helpless to those eyes and her voice—no magic in the world could sway it. Love, melted him completely. 

"Alright then," he began, not in any mood to be drawn into another argument after last night's disaster—the origin of turtles no longer allowed to be discussed in the castle. "What of a name for either sex?"

"Such as," mused his wife as she fiddled with little black buttons for the toy's eyes. 

He though for a moment, focus being drawn away from his painting. Vlad Dracula had encountered many people in his life. Many names with many memories associated. It was difficult to think of one that did not have some sort of negative tie. Morgan? No, some fledgling named Morgan had tried to poison him not a few decades ago. "Avery?" he offered lightly.

The woman snorted, "Perhaps not. What of...Ashley?"

He glared at her over his shoulder, completely unawares of the paint smeared along his cheek or hiding in his beard. "What if they're a _girl_ , Lisa?"

She didn't bother to look at him as she sewed down the eyes, "It can be used as a female name as well—don't let your age get to you, wrinkles might begin to spring."

"Not Ashley," he chimed gruffly, returning to his work. It was Lisa's near favorite activity to tease him about his age. "An old one, Amari?"

There was a pause, and the paranoia that had been creeping upon him for months threatened to consume him again, though when he whipped around to check on his wife he was greeted only by the sight of her tilted head and inquisitive face. Eyes on a far off horizon as she huffed, "Are we picking 'A' names by luck or did I miss a joke somewhere?"

The vampire paused as well, "I suppose we have been."

From then on the child was only referred to as little baby 'A.' In any of their conversations about the babe, the moniker was used fondly, punctuated by the brush of soft knuckles against one's cheek. Or a kiss to a worried forehead. Lisa slept more and more, her body stressed from the exponential growth of the child. It only left him with more time to research, more time to solidify a plan once Baby 'A' decided to come into the world.

He paced his study, fire providing only light and no needed heat. While winter was gone, early spring still left harsh drafts for a human body, harsher still for bodies that were being overworked by a vampiric embryo. His transmutation mirror glittered and rippled with the reflection of an old magician woman that had served him for years.

"All the stars says she lives, my lord."

He muttered into his hand, where he had bitten his nails down with nerves. They had stayed trimmed the months he and Lisa had been together. "I don't give a damn about your _stars_ ," hissed the vampire. "I need answers. I need midwives from previous dhampir births.” 

The crone cocked her head, “There hasn’t been a birth so poignant in nearly a century, no midwives can help. But,” she added as if to calm the vampire, “much the community is in a stir—not all in opposition. The babe has already been dubbed The Alucard—your second. Forseen with great power.” 

He clawed through his beard, the nails long gone had done a much better job, “She will have magic?” 

“Yes my lord,” nodded the magician, “though not of raw talent. The child will be _strong_. Possess more power than most pure vampires.” 

But that did nothing to ease his worry, arguably amplifying it. Lisa hated magic, it when against all the science she had clawed tooth and nail to learn. It was the very reason she knocked on his door, to escape the veil of superstition. The woman was still reluctant to concede in the role of magic’s healing talents as well. Their child would be _powerful._ That had never doubted him, he was the strongest vampire alive—perhaps strongest to date—and Lisa had the will of a lion. No, power he was always sure of. It was how much power may harm his beloved wife that caused him nights of restless fear. 

“Those who do oppose, do they plan attacks on my domain?” titled Vlad towards the mirror, eyes only on the fire. 

She stalled, hesitant to anger an already quiet prickly man, “No—but Pierre of France has made vocal his distaste of a human half breed.” 

He snarled at the fireplace, “It’s quite a good thing then that he still answers to the Palace of Versailles. Pierre hasn’t had true control over France in three centuries, and his does not worry me.” Vlad stiffed up straighter, hands behind his back, “You will contact me at once if any whispers of a revolt come closer to my doorstep.”

The magician nodded, bowing her head, “Of course Lord Dracula,” before he commanded the mirror to leave. Cracking apart and folding itself back to rest. Lisa had chosen to love him despite his form, despite the nature she knew was within him. She walked through a valley of corpses and still trusted him to help instead of harm. She loved him entirely, not in sections, just as he loved her. Surely, no matter the magic or the power of Baby ‘A’, she’d love them just as much.

She sat back on her cushioned bench in the greenhouse, feet swollen and propped while her head lay on a pillow. Vlad had been contracted to do all of the spring tending to her plants, via the ask of a very swollen wife. Lisa asked, and Vlad obliged. It was his way, on older thinking for sure but his only nature. She was his _wife_ , and she would be treated like the queen that she was. And if that meant he was sifting through fertilizer with a trowel then that’s what it meant. “Have you ever met an Adrian?” 

Her voice carried in the glass building, and he momentarily stopped his digging. “Adrienne? Once or twice.” 

Lisa sighed. “Adrian starts with an ‘A,’” supplied the blonde, hand on swollen stomach. 

Vlad dropped his trowel, wiping his hand off on a rag while he came over to his horizontal bride. She blinked up at him with a faint smile, arm resting on her forehead. She was so beautiful, so talented. The vampire knelt beside his human wife, returning her small grin. “That it does.” 

She ran fingers over his dirt covered hands, the smell of fresh soil between them, “And you know, it has a bit of bell when you say it outloud.” Lisa breathed, “Adrian Tepes.” 

As if more melting was possible for him, he felt his shoulders sink, “Adrienne _Fahrenheit_ Tepes.” She rolled her eyes and he pressed a kiss to her hand, the skin warmer than the air in the house. “There is a bell.” He then moved to kiss her rounded abdomen, reminiscent of all the months ago when he smelled himself hiding somewhere within her. Now their scents were indistinguishable, his blood smeared with her’s. A living thing crafted by their bodies, nurtured by her heart.

In his studies of dhampirs he’d found that while vampiric men can usually sire children, a vampire woman was near impossible. The affliction—or blessing as some consider it—of vampirism alter’s a body’s necessities for life. No longer air, no longer water. The critical things humans still require, vital things for a healthy embryo. Their body usually consumes the poor thing before it could even make itself known—the requirement of new blood too compelling for a vampire’s system, whether they wish it or not. 

While most dhampirs were dead before they live, their child was not. She was safe, with a heartbeat that Vlad had been able to hear for months. A healthy rhythm, albeit slower than her mother’s—as it always would be. He couldn't resist resting his forehead against the child, call to his own blood too strong. The thought of children hadn’t been in his mind since before he was turned. So far back he struggled to recall. There was nothing but old journals from centuries past that helped him remember, but few words ever spoken of his own parents. What was a good father like anymore? Could he ever really provide what a child needed? Or did the extent of his touch with humanity end with Lisa—lost on him would be the tenderness needed for a babe. 

Would his temper get the best of him?

“Vlad,” Lisa whispered quietly, perhaps noticing his painful train of thought. 

Another kiss to the heartbeat he could feel beneath her skin, “Yes, Lisa.” 

“I’d really love some shrimp.” 

Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes was in fact _not_ Adrienne Fahrenheit Tepes, and he was born in the mid spring during the light of day. The Speakers that had married them were also present, the older women offering the feminine comfort some women require during such processes as birth—Vlad quite upset that he couldn’t provide it all himself. But he understood, the older women soothing her worries not with medical anecdotes but with looks in their eyes that told Lisa, _You’ll be alright, I’ve been here before_. 

His skin had itched the entire time, smelling blood from any corner of the castle. Blood that was hers—life that was spilling out and away. Blood she _needed_. His own magicians of course were there with their blessings and soothsaying, though Lisa very much did not want magic in the room. This was between her and her body, no magic required. He held her hand, let her squeeze until he was sure that had they been human bones, his hand would have been broken. And her screams were nearly as bad as her blood, as most everyone associates screams with death. The last painful cries of fear before it overcomes you—and Vlad Dracula had heard his fair share of those screams, unable to distinguish the sounds of death from those of birth. It echoed with the same pain. 

Lisa labored extensively, and for over a day. With her final scream they were gifted a child, caught by Vlad himself at the request of his wife. He would not let the little secret slip that he had _never_ delivered a child before and he had no serious idea what he was meant to do. Particularly with the cord. But the great Vampire King held his son, covered in blood, with no issue. As if Adrian was made to fit right there in his arms—a perfect puzzle piece. And he seemed to fit just as perfectly in Lisa’s arms as well. 

His eyes were not open for a few minutes, but the child screamed like a demon nonetheless, making his consciousness very much known. Fine clear hair was flattened down across his head, color indistinguishable at the time. It was a week before the hair stood up enough for the palest blond to be seen, Lisa a little proud by it. His bassinet was filled with the softest of silks for delicate skin, Adrian’s veins very visible beneath it. Vlad had taken his time tracing them while the babe slept. 

The weeks following, Adrian continued to grow quickly, filling out to the size of a four month old in just one—or at least from what the Speaker midwives had told them. Both he and Lisa quite inexperienced in any matter involving children, let alone the average sizes. But tonight, Adrian slept quietly enough for Lisa to lay down with him in their bed like a husband and wife should after a long day, her head resting on his chest as he combed through her hair. They laid in the welcomed silence, though both awake, the sound of her soft breathing enough for the two. 

Vlad looked up to the canopy of their bed, velvet folds looked pitch in the darkness—the perfect surface to stare into and think. No move had been made by any other vampire lord, though many of them unafraid to expel their opinions on Adrian’s birth. Their presence was too obvious at Braila, and he shifted them far into the countryside, close enough to Lisa’s old home for the woman to visit if she ever felt homesick. It might as well be the last shift of the castle, his wife growing more and more desperate for a less complex life. Speaking endlessly about finding someplace to work in an actual village once Adrian was older, encouraging him to start thinking of places he’d like to travel. It may kill him to leave her, but the want was simply another way Lisa cared for _him._ Go out and travel, she’d plead whenever his behavior became too antiquated. She wanted him to have new experiences, but for now—the baby was new enough.

And his cry was _loud_ enough to pierce through a hundred stone walls. 

Lisa shifted, preparing to go and retrieve him but Vlad stopped her, eyes half open and far too tired to protect. “Sleep darling, one night of rest.” His fingers brushed the soft of her face, Lisa leaning into the caress just as she always did. She must have muttered something but exhaustion took it all out of her, husband already pulling blankets over her shoulders for warmth. “I won’t be long.” 

Adrian was wrestling around in his crib, befuddled by the many thin blankets he was wrapped in. His teeth had come in fang first, and quickly—the boy swiftly changed to a bottle feeding. Eventually his growth would slow, and then ultimately stop. Immortality was roughly expected, though it was once more another area of knowledge too far from his reach. But he had Adrian here and healthy, it is all he should focus on. 

The boy still fit into his arms the way a lock fit a key, instantly soothed by the simple presence of a parent. It made Vlad give a reluctant smile to his boy, “You might require nearly as much attention as your mother’s plants.” No matter what they spoke, Adrian always seemed to have a glimmer of understanding in his golden eyes. Though he was sure the boy did not _understand_ what they were saying, it wasn’t a stretch to see that he compredended when he was being spoken _to._

And those eyes always sparkled. 

Lisa was his sky and Adrian the sun. If Vlad ever missed the daylight, he was blessed with it right here for as long as he wished. And he certainly wished. Wished that their move so far away was safe enough. Wished that his community wouldn't rage up from the underground in a revolt. Vlad hadn’t contacted any night officials since learning of Adrian’s arrival, shutting himself out completely. Perhaps the Dracula legend would fade, and he could even live as a man the way Lisa always spoke of. Disappear into oblivion from the horrors his people encouraged. Keep this family safe.

Because there still wasn’t a day he did not think of Lisa’s knock against his door, or how many gifts she had given him with it. Gifts like the infant wriggling in his arms, or the warmth in his body again. Never did he realize how stoic he had become, shut in for years and decades and time beyond. Where months passed as days, Vlad had time again. He lived with a _reason_. Protect his family, at any cost. He knew danger would come for them at some time, he hoped traveling and staying outside the castle one day may make them harder targets but there was no way to be sure. 

Vlad Dracula would not let go of love with something so trivial as death.

Infant in hand, he made his way to the lab to collect alchemic supplies. He hadn’t been practicing while Lisa was there but what she didn’t no couldn’t hurt her. This was for her after all. Adrian gurgled and cooed as his father transported him around the castle, delighted to be doing something. It was for _him too._

The engine of the castle lay in it's brain, near the top of the structure, looking out to the world. Here, the spell would take root. Here is where the soul of the castle remained—haunted by every magick ever done in its walls. The stone breathed, bended to his will with every cog turn. It had been so long without guests, the magic nearly turned the building into its own person. In that sense—he had to reckon with fate.

In a basket made of magic, he laid little Adrian down beside him, yet far enough away to where any of his work would not reach the babe. Splayed before him were curse ingredients, and an Adamic spell book. Carefully, as it had been eons since his last curse, he began painting his hands with a poultice crafted from the herbs and blood. Finger to wrist, his palms were a sticky red and his book laid out on the curse he had chosen as a base. The meditation required to put himself in the cursing headspace continued to be interrupted by the quiet sounds of his son—who was presently occupied by a little bat Vlad had conjured. 

Deep breaths, taste of magic on his tongue, the air around him began to shift and melt into the realms of mystic. He felt the bones of this castle, so haunted and bathed in a residue that it had accumulated over the centuries. Vlad smelled the gears of it’s engine, and the heat in it’s pipes. His body swayed naturally, fingers painting symbols around him before using the red to draw them along his face. 

The realms finally aligned, and the air snapped into action—buzzing with his intent. 

_“I am the Master. You are the stone_ — _”_

A tremor shuttered through the engine room, gears creaking in response.

 _“It is my will you follow, I who you serve_ — _heed me and my power_

 _I bind these walls_ — _I bind you”_

The tremor became a rumble, and if Dracula could distract himself without harming the ritual he would have been checking on his son not four feet away. But the magic was already slipping, and he ground his teeth against it’s resistance. 

_“I bind you!”_

Claws dug through the stone he sat on, fingers buried in the very mortar of the castle. Violet magic pulsed through where his claws were wormed into the stone, bleeding through the cracks like blood of his own. His voice was not his own, it echoed through every knick in the walls and crack in the gears.

 _“Upon your master’s death_ — _you are bound_

 _Do my will and trap the killer_ — _bind the killer_

 _Give them a slow death, eat them away_ —”

Behind his eyes he saw the lonely years that he had spent as a ghost himself, cursed by the own creation of the halls. Thirst gone, passion gone. A husk of what he used to be. King dying at his throne. The decades it was him and the tomes, unsatisfying feedings that left him nothing but hollow. Immortality catching up and trapping him. The years he was _alone_.

Before her knock…

All magic requires a clause, for the balance of power. Every charm, every enchantment, every _curse._ A proposition to the other end of fate, and curses were no small spell. Magic was not immortal, and needs balance to sustain itself before dimensions being ripping. So with even evil action he intended into the curse, a bargain needed to be made. _The exception_ , for lack of better terms. And Dracula had only one thought on his mind with the gift of a villagewoman cooing softly by his side.

 _“Undo your damage only_ —

_Only if the murder may find love in this ancient halls_

_And one can love a murder, as she loved me_ —

_I bind you!”_

And the castle shook with a terrible yawn, the air infected by magic as it seeped into all the corners of the labyrinth. He felt the magic run down his arms as power fled his body to bleed into the stone. The very stench of his own power beginning to reek of a fresh curse. The vampire’s mouth hung open, the spell stealing his very breath to imbue into the workings. His book rattled, the ingredients and bowl of poultice shaking. Every symbol he had drawn was floating around him, the ones on his face beginning to burn like the touch of ice. 

And just as the spell reached its crescendo—it stopped. Snapping everything back into place and he jolted violently. The engine was quiet, and his castle yet to creak. The little coo of his baby child the only sound beside his heaves. He wiped the symbols from his face with his sleeve, picking up Adrian from the invisible basket. 

The boy made a soft cry when being moved, but drifted off as Vlad went through the motions of putting all the supplies back in their places. By the time he had cleaned, and set Adrian back down in his crib, the babe was entirely asleep, fangs poking out from his munchkin snore. He did not forget to kiss that pale forehead, and caress that cheek just as he did with the boy’s mother. He’d be safe from any murder that wanted to steal the throne for now, until he could find a better way of protecting him. 

And when Vlad slipped under the covers with his sweet Lisa, she made no noise—inching closer until she was back to clinging upon him. Spit had collected on the corner of her tired mouth, but she was sound asleep the way a young mother like her should be. So he kissed and caressed her just the same, twirling a loose piece of gold between his fingers as he thought about that fateful little knock at his door.


	9. The Vampire's Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I'm so sorry this chapter is really behind, I struggled a lot with writing from Alucard's view and it sorta threw me for a spin. I promise I'll try and update more regularly, muse be willing

_"I had hoped it could be you," sighed the vampire. Alucard's arms crossed over his chest with the Speaker before him, listening intently._

_She chewed her lip, "I--I don't think I could care for you like that...we barely know each other."_

_And the blond provided a pained smile, waving his hand. "It is no issue, Grant is a fine little idiot. Looks at you with stars in his eyes."_

He liked to feed people as it turned out. Cooking didn't provide much joy when he had done it only for himself, but with people in the castle it was suddenly his favorite activity. Alucard ransacked some old recipe books that didn't include human flesh as an ingredient, at Trevor Belmont's request. Though the idea of accidently slipping him some pork and acting as if it _was_ human seemed funnier than he supposed it should be. One day perhaps. For now he made a pasta dish with a creme sauce that the other man had mentioned not hating earlier. Perhaps that could do just fine, adding some chicken and there was basil out in the greenhouse. It would be simple but his head was burned out from finding the Speaker earlier.

It was one rule, his _only_ rule. Maybe he'd put locks on all the doors next time. The family study was one of the least painful rooms she could have seen, but painful nonetheless. Years had been spent there watching his father pour over schematics while he and his mother read or occupied themselves in other ways. It was one of his favorite rooms just because they could gather there. It was a cozy memory hold, keeping safe long lost moments between the book pages. He had learned to write in that room, encouraged by his mother with what he assumed to be perfect penmanship at the time. As it turns out neither of his parents wrote very well, their lives so encompassed by chemical notations and doctor's scribble.

And now, there wouldn't be one more word ever inked down by either of them.

What had been the last sentence they scribed? Unaware that it would be their final mark on paper. He had read all the notes left on the study's desk, but those were years ago. All their recent writings would have been in their cottage in Lupu. Alucard had never seen the rubble, never went searching for her lost belongings. A memento more recent than the ten years she had been away from this castle. Oh how the world can change so quickly. 

One second you are traveling the countryside with nothing but a pen and paper—the next you are trapped.

You are alone. And the ghosts of a childhood spent between these walls remind you of that every day. His father's vision still sitting in his own study, combing through his beard as he stared at a fire long dead. That was another room in the west wing, another place too close to his heart to share. Alucard had sat in that chair, room wrecked from their fight, he sat and he thought what it must have been like before his mother came around. He was left to assume it felt very much like this. Empty. Alone. 

Until some village dunce decides to pick the lilies his mother had planted herself. He didn't just pluck a flower, he damn near yanked the entire plant out and snow lilies are fragile as is. And they were her favorite. Sitting with her in his father's most treasured portrait of her. Most of the other paintings he had were old keepsakes, paintings from distant lands and grand battles. The things that didn't matter any more. He only left his wife undamaged in his rage. Alucard frequented a painting of him as a child, knocked off the wall with a broken frame and scorched edges. He convinced himself it happened in their fight, for the thought of his father letting his image burn hurt too much to entertain. 

The mad had loved him in those dying moments, and Alucard loved him just as well. Even as his skin shed ashes, eyes long dead. Loved him as much as any son loved their kind father, even while he killed him.

He shut himself away in the old family room for quite some time after he rather insistently dismissed Sypha. She seemed to understand, leaving him with another quiet hug. A _hug_ , he nearly broke down with the first one and absolutely broke down after the second. When was the last time anyone had given him something so simple? Over a year for sure, over a year all alone. He had never been prone to friendships before, people always wanted to get a taste of him. Every once and a while he'd let them, just before making a quick escape in the night, hasty little letter that said he'd enjoyed himself but please never see him again. 

Alucard didn't like people knowing him, but he sure liked cooking.

So that's where Trevor found him, boiling a pot on the stove for the hand crafted noodles he had made a few days prior. The Belmont was intriguing. Personality seemed pulled in all different directions. Was he playful or was he drunk? Was he angry or was he hurt? Was he truthful, or was he drunk. Again. But whatever he was, the man was admirable at least, and admirable enough to know what to do with this empty sarcophagus of Alucard's. Find a nice woman to settle down with and build up a quaint little army against the night hoard.

Because hoards were bound to come. There was a gaping hole in the power structure of Eastern Europe, and Wallachia was a highly prized slice of territory due to the intense mystical energies that converged within its borders. He expected them soon, as quiet whispers of Dracula's disappearance became more fervent. They knew his wife was killed yes, swore revenge on Targoviste yes. But it had been a year now, where was Dracula's promised genocide? These were the thoughts the Belmont interrupted.

"So Dracula liked to hang up my family's old battle whips."

Alucard didn't look over his shoulder to respond, "Found those, did you Belmont?" He had nearly forgotten about his sudden exit from the armory when he had felt Sypha sneaking in forbidden places. 

The man huffed, pulling out the chair he always sat in now. His little motion that proved even nomadic drunks could be creatures of habit as well. "Yeah, quite morbid but what do you expect from a vampire."

"You may take them down if you like," offered the current vampire from the stove, moving the pasta around with a wooden spoon. 

Trevor paused, "Really?"

"What use do I have of your family's lost relics? It doesn't please me much apart from knowing it annoys you. And beside, eventually the contents of this place will be yours to control." He lost his gaze in the boiling of the water, speaking to himself quietly, "What does it matter anymore…" 

"Well," huffed the Belmont, "stuck all up in your will like that. Better be careful, Grant may think we're married."

It was meant to be a joke and Alucard let himself chuckle, "Married people don't grapple on bathroom floors." He let his pasta boil while he chopped up some chicken to be grilled on a skillet.

"How would I know?" shrugged Trevor, eating one of the peaches still left on the table in a bowl. Alucard didn't stutter like his instincts told him to. _How would he know?_ How would he know anything about family, or marriage. Young he had said but _how_ young. If he didn't remember his family, what did Trevor cling onto his surname for? Why did he continue their profession? 

Alucard swallowed the thoughts, "Yes, they use beds for the grappling." The chicken sizzled on the hit skillet, a relaxing harmony with the boiling water. The sounds of life. He hoped Grant and Sypha were hungry soon, he never knew Trevor to be anything _less_ than hungry. When had he become so simple? 

_Around the same time you started wanting friends_ , a snotty voice in his head pointed. 

The vampire sighed, missing the days where he had the energy to be much more sharp. He'd liked to return all the annoying jabs that Trevor gave him. But he was tired, so perpetually tired. It made him wonder what the Belmont would think of him before the curse—much ruder he supposed. 

"Ah so we have to wait to defile the bed till we're married," he took another bite of his pit fruit. "It's a good thing Dracula left you so many couches in the meantime." Trevor had no clue that he was speaking of Alucard's own father. Sometimes that made his comments on the man funnier, and sometimes it made them harsher. This one was in the spirit of a joke, and if Trevor was in a good enough mood to joke then he was in a good enough mood not to care. 

"How presumptuous, that I'd lay a Belmont on something as dignified as my couch." His barbs usually got him an angry Trevor, especially the night previous when he'd shot out of the tub to just yell at him. This one however seemed to follow their merthful tone, and Trevor just chucked instead.

"So I should get used to cold bathroom floors then?"

But that— _that_ made Alucard stop. So the Belmont did expect more. He half assumed Trevor would just up and stake him, convinced Alucard had used some vampiric thrall to lure him into late night wrestling. He tried not to study the man in the chair, biting his fruit. Tried not to wonder what could possibly be going to the man's head. He had said that whatever physical relationship they had wouldn't affect him, seemed quite insistent about it as well. But Alucard couldn't help but proceed with caution. Trevor was just as alone as he was, and Alucard never found comfort in being someone's convenience-fuck. In a perfect world, Alucard would be _wanted_. Would be desired for true companionship. Would be loved. 

But he lived in far from a perfect world and his chicken was about to start burning.

The good graces of time blessed them with Grant and Sypha, chattering into the kitchen. "I swear I smelled something," muttered the young man.

"Yes yes, we can all sleep soundly knowing you still have the use of your nose." The Speaker joined Trevor at the table and Alucard smiled to himself, invisible with his back towards them. _They'd be happy_ , he concluded. Even if he wasn't the biggest fan of Grant's gardening techniques. 

But at least the young man liked the pasta, zested with lemon from his mother's fruit trees. And they enjoyed a rather _normal_ meal. No passive-aggressive comments from Grant, Trevor managed not to mention murdering Alucard, and Sypha told them an old story from her family. Eating usually made him tired, full but still _hungry_. The back of his heart screaming that there was something he truly needed. Fighting that kept him exhausted, but today was a _good_ day. He had more energy, less weight in his bones. Sypha assisted him in cleaning up, mainly to mess around with the sink for fun but he appreciated it nonetheless. 

It all felt very natural. That was a dangerous feeling. All the lonely aches in his body would return worse when the Speaker and her side-kick left. But he had shared something with her today, Sypha the only person who had ever known the real story behind his curse. Doubled down worse than his father had ever intended—Alucard would have thought himself damned with the situation either way. And now he'd be tortured for it by the ghost of his action. Sypha noticed his hands tremble as he held a plate beneath the faucet, perhaps he had been more tired that he thought. She gave him the smallest of smiles, a small touch of her hand to his for reassurance. 

He would have loved for it to have been her. She would have made his mother proud. 

There was another study, down by the rooms all his guests were staying in, and he made quick work of setting up a fire down there after dinner. His father had always done that for them after a meal, where they'd sit and read or sit and argue about a long running debate on turtles. Alucard supposed it was wishful thinking, that it would feel the same. It didn't, but it didn't feel terrible. Sypha talked about her favorite historical volumes in his father's collection, Trevor and Grant striking up a card game by the fire. Either Grant was an excellent player, or the Belmont didn't understand what an Ace was. 

He truly was making it worse for himself. Cooking meals, lighting fires. All little joys that would turn around and hurt him in the long run. He could close his eyes and pretend it didn't sting now, the _almost_ of it. The _almost_ normal dinner, or the _almost_ study feeling. So damn close to what he had missed the most. And yet, forever far away. He let his eyes linger on Trevor for a while. Outline aglow from the fire beside him, strong profile and ratty hair no bath seemed to fix. At least he was stuck with someone he found attractive and someone who didn't mind male companionship. A stroke of luck there. Perhaps the Belmont was right, why not screw around till the curse took over. There was no one left to care. 

The hope of some perfect soul banging on his door died before it started. The castle was remote, concealed through diverting trickery and left as a fable to all the people in the village below. A myth, enchanted to keep their minds off of it. Of course except Grant, young and bored enough to challenge myths. The moment his father was gone, he felt the magic creep from the walls and bury itself beneath his skin. The gates didn't open. And his exhaustion increased. And the pain of losing both his parents weighed harder from their constant reminder. Alucard was trapped, and who could love a beast unable to crawl his way out from his tomb. No vampire could love him, he was tainted blood. Defiled with the stench of _human_. And no human, well he was sure the one person smart enough and willed enough to not care about his nature had died on a stake. There was only one Lisa Fahrenheit out there, and the curse demand he find another one. 

So Alucard resigned himself to the fact that he would die here, maybe slink into his childhood bedroom and have his last few days lying next to his father's grave. He'd lock himself away, Trevor didn't need to see a dead man finally croak. He'd know anyway. He'd be _free_. The vampire lounged on the long sofa in front of the fire, Sypha entertaining them all with her Speaker stories and vibrant tone. 

"Wait, wait—so then the Countess did _what?_ " Grant exclaimed from his spot on the floor.

Sypha laughed, "Married the goose of course!" 

"Lord man, weren't you following along?" Trevor rumbled, shifting the cards in his hand.

Alucard hummed, quiet accent much different from the heaviness of the Belmont's, "How else was she supposed to get the dowry?"

 _That_ sounded like him, quick and sly. It used to be his favorite game to play, how long can he outwit the hustlers until they gave up their acts. Unfortunately sometimes that wit caught up with him when a few snarky people hit back. Alucard liked to argue, liked people to work for it. For too long had people of the night tried to flatter him into complacency, just to have the title of hitting Lord Dracula close to home. Alucard _hated_ flattery. Trevor never tried it, the Belmont always spoke whatever was on his mind, ulterior motives be damned. Alucard drummed his fingers, eyes narrowed at the man. Perhaps grappling on a sofa didn't sound _too_ awful. 

As long as he had detergent nearby, these are antique. 

"God dammit!" Growled the Belmont, blowing steam at the cards. Grant was lent back, holding his hand casually while Trevor's had his protected with his life. "Fucking cheater, Danasty."

The young man laughed, dark skin warmed delightfully by the fireplace, "No just better. Thought you were a bar rat anyway." 

"One who apparently is shit at rummy," mocked Alucard.

Trevor huffed, sharing a charged look with the vampire. "Unless you got a jack up your sleeve, I don't wanna hear lip, Leech." 

While it should have been harsher, Alucard knew the shot was meant to roll off his shoulders. It made Sypha stifle a laugh. His feet were thrown out in front of him on the couch, conserving energy by being halfway in bed. Not a part of him wanted to abandon the buzzing excitement of _people_. When he had been so long starved. The Speaker however had her knees drawn up to her chest, robes looking to keep her toasty warm as she wriggled cold toes towards the fire. 

The woman did eventually yawn, back of her hand covering her mouth as she stretched. Droopy eyes signaled a tired Sypha, who stood up to announce her retirement. Grant set his cards down slowly, in some appearance to seem less eager, "I'll walk you to your room." 

Much to Alucard's surprise the woman didn't protest, the two heading out while Grant threw a look Trevor's way, "Don't sneak at my cards, Belmont." 

It made the man grumble on the floor, shuffling his own cards while their companions departed, " _Don't look at my fucking cards_." He mocked with a butchery of Grant's thin accent before adding in a truly helpless tone, "Not like I would know what to do with them anyway."

Alucard could help drawing his brows together, perplexed. "How did you make money?" 

"Huh?" Trevor replied, not bothering to look up from his hand. 

"Coin, did you hunt for it? You obviously can't gamble." 

The Belmont shifted, looking a bit uneasy. His fingers tapped his cards impatiently. "Something like that yeah. Monsters got more money but sold wolf pelts for a bit."

Alucard titled his head, the longer he studied him the more interested he got. Now he was going to be the one pestering with questions. Ah how Belmont would tease him for that. The scar along his eye didn't look like a wolf, as he very much knew what marks like that looked like. He'd been permanently decorated with them, no it was something singular, sword perhaps? Maybe the Belmont had a bad bar fight. That wouldn't have surprised him, his skills were good but nowhere near as sharp as they should have been. He must be relying on the bit of training he got before the purge of his family. _Didn't even know what a medusa was_. 

"What age?"

It was a repeat from his question earlier that day, this time far more specific. Trevor scrunched his face, looking through his cards now, head low. "Dunno. Thirteen? Twelve? Silly number like that."

" _T_ _welve?"_ he couldn't help but exclaim. He remembered being twelve, almost adult looking due to the way he aged but still too fresh to really know anything important. Too young to be _alone_. There was no doubt in his mind that Trevor Belmont had years on him, five or six at least. But he didn't know that, he didn't know that feeling young and ignorant hadn't been so long ago for Alucard. What could a twelve year old do to survive? Farm hand maybe, find a city to shine shoes in. But Trevor scavenged and hunted for his money, even without really knowing how. The tunic he had still bore the Belmont crest, it must have stayed with him through the years. The garment far too large for a twelve year old. Alucard wondered if he kept it with him until it fit enough to wear, or if he donned the tunic early as some fiction of a grown man. 

Now he was all man, rough hewn and solid. Something haunting in those eyes that Alucard couldn't help but understand. Maybe that's why he was so petulant at times, man having no real direction when he was young. He supposed both of them had family crosses to bear. 

"Yeah, what of it. Lot of people get orphaned," it was a flat dismissal of the conversation. The way he had tried to shut it down this morning. If he acted like he didn't care then maybe Alucard wouldn't ask anymore questions. He'd pulled the trick on Trevor himself plenty of times. Except Trevor always pushed, and Alucard felt the word _orphan_ hit harder than he could have ever expected. 

So it was silent, lingering on with the crackling of the fire. Trevor dropped his cards, eyes only in the flames as if there were answers there. Alucard often found himself staring into them as well, as if all fire was related. All made of the same source. As though the flickering heat in this fireplace was the very same that killed his mother upon her pyre. 

"Sypha's room isn't that far," the Belmont pointed numbly. 

Alucard hummed, "Perhaps he got lost."

The man by the fire chortled, "What, in her robes?"

"Belmont," Alucard warned, finding himself protective over the Speaker. The one person who knew. Though it really shouldn't have bothered him. Sypha was her own woman, in no need of protecting. Especially from a humble little adventurer. He let his shoulders relax, "Besides, he's probably looking for more flowers to steal." 

"Oh and I'm the rude one," muttered Trevor, close enough to the flames it was starting to worry the vampire. Embers popping out by his fur lined boots. Now all fire worried him, barely bothering with it before Trevor arrived. Even all the crumbled holes in the castle couldn't convince him. First his mother, and then he used the only pyromancy charm he'd ever learned to char the body of his father. 

Alucard lent his head back, propping it up with his arm, to distract from a baseless fear of little embers. "Congratulations, you've admitted it."

But the mock had no joy in it, fallening dead to the floor. He heard Trevor shift, feet shuffling, "Self-awareness is the key. And am I not allowed on the couch to sit or is that only fucking?"

The man's casual tone brought a bit of heat to his cheeks, he hoped Trevor couldn't see the resist of a smile. Alucard cleared his throat, eyes closed as he gestured to the other side of the couch, "Opponent might be a while, just don't slobber." 

"Oh why thank you, for I am but a humble _lap dog_ ," he hissed while he arranged himself on the sofa.

Alucard clicked his tongue, "You are no such thing." He peaked an eye open to leer at the man, "A hunting hound at least." 

"Coming from an actual wolf," threw his companion. 

Alucard did let this smile through, amused by Trevor's tone. Transfiguration was an easy magic for vampires, and he had picked it up quite young. His wolf was always his favorite, reminding him of the little toy dog he'd entertain himself with when he was little. That toy still rested in his room. Some pathetic shrine surrounded in scortchmarks and the scent of death. 

"Don't act so scared, Princess. Not going to gobble any grannies." Alucard stretched his legs out, one knee pulled up where he laid and arm. Less tired looking, allowed him to sit up and see Trevor more clearly. Of the many things he wanted, looking like a helpless maiden was not one of them. 

Trevor just huffed out a laugh, warm undertones of his skin done well by the orange of the firelight. The feeling of that stubbled chin running over his skin came back, the hair just long enough not to scratch. How entrancing Trevor’s eyes seemed blown wide with desire and lips bitten plump. He heated up nearly as hot as the flames, cheeks burnt bright pink. And all the tones of a well worked chest, overlaid with a hunter’s scars. There wasn’t an inch of Trevor that was dainty, all of him rough. Even the sounds of a needy Belmont never went into a high territory—it was always a growl. The rumble of thunder beneath the man’s chest. And that was just as attractive too. 

Yes, maybe a bit of tension release wasn’t a bad idea at all. They could just go back to hating each other afterwards. There was no doubt in his mind that what he really wanted was something more. A person to lay next to in the wee hours of the morning, whisper soft things over soft pillows. Someone to cook for every morning and every night, a person who gave him a reason to pick all the flowers that grew. He wanted someone to love, and someone to love him back. 

Trevor was not that—but he was enough. 

“You know, my side hasn’t bothered me all day,” he threw into the empty air. Using the little power he had to knock shut the door. 

What is magic? 

Magic is a bargaining between a person and the threads of fate. Peeling back carefully woven futures to bleed your own intent in their absence. Of course to do this you must always sacrifice something along with it. Blood magic has its place in the vampire community but Alucard never cared much for it. His magical prowess was little in terms of the technical. He didn’t find joy in participating in bacchanals or waiting for stars to align. That was stuff for magicians—Alucard was no magician. The relationship between magic and he was a primal one, lying deep in his bones. Something he could thank his father for, along with the ever present thirst in his heart. Because that’s where the hunger resided, never in his stomach. It was burning deep in his chest, eating away at those precious four chambers. Bloodlust had never been a part of his life, never driven him. Based on textual evidence, most dhampirs rarely ever drank the crimson life—there was barely a need. 

But _magic_ made him thirsty. The curse slowly breaking his resolve, reducing him to the absolute primal of his nature. Never had he felt more vampiric than alone with his withering body. All the facades and dressings of his life stripped down. And he was flesh and bone. And _thirst_. And in every sense of the word, Alucard was ashamed. 

He worked so hard to never crumble to the pitfalls of his father’s race, did his best to show just how human he could be. Maybe then he could worm his way into some niche with humans, away from the ever present politics and murder of the vampire world. That is not where he ever wanted to be, even his father had desired renouncing his position in the society. For his mother. Once again, the many ways he and his father were alike. They’d do anything for Lisa Tepes. 

Would she be disappointed with him now? He didn’t think so, but part of him surely questioned it a lot. Unable to prevent dark thoughts taking over. What if he was letting her down? What if there was another way to stop Vlad from his rampage—what if he orphaned himself for no reason. Beginning his long suicide. Maybe he should have fought harder against the curse before it started ruining his strength. Maybe he could have broken free himself. Now just a slave to the dark magic. 

Thin fingers trembled as he buckled up his belts, sitting on the edge of Trevor’s adopted bed. The Belmont was lying on his back, post orgasmic bliss with glassy eyes at the ceiling. Alucard spared little glance to him, moving to snatch his shirt when a strong hand caught his wrist.

“Sure are desperate to leave,” the Belmont grumbled, blue eyes narrowed. He was haloed by a silvery moon. “Did I piss you off?” 

And his tone was rough but maybe there was genuine worry behind that. No he wasn’t pissed off, just distracted. As much as he tried to avoid it the wrestling _had_ made his fatigue more intense, suddenly finding very little energy to blink. They hadn’t even done much, and he felt a bit pathetic having to tap out again. Oh well, the Belmont seemed severely satisfied, managing to shut up for once. 

“No need to worry,” he gave a weak chuckle in attempts to ward off any more questions. “Just want to rest.” 

Trevor squinted further, hand still on Alucard’s wrist. He had sat up, sheets pooling at his waist with just the thinnest blanket of sweat making him reflect the moonlight. “Well you don’t have to leave so fucking...morbidly.” 

Alcuard couldn’t help raise his eyebrows, “Isn’t everything I do morbid, according to you?” 

The hunter muttered under his breath, letting go of Alucard’s wrist, his words sounding something like _nevermind_ —perhaps a creative swear thrown in between. So the vampire continued redressing, his own orgasam’s after effects quickly being taken over by his exhaustion. God if the curse didn’t let him enjoy just a bit of debauchery then he might as well go out now. The marks on his neck left the skin tender, sore if he tried to tilt his head around. He had never minded before, and didn’t really now—just a little upset that the Belmont seemed so desperate to leave _him_ looking like a street whore. He’d have to return the favor at some point. 

He did pause before leaving the bed, Trevor rolled over on his side and away from Alucard. Pain struck him deep in his chest. _What were they doing?_ Realistically, what were they fucking doing. Trevor wasn’t what he was looking for, even if that body could make him melt. And Alucard certainly couldn’t be what the hunter was looking for either. And if this curse infected even what seemed like the hottest burning parts of his life, then what was the point? He was right when he’d said that one day they’d both realize it wasn’t worth it, so perhaps that’s what hurt. Knowing it would come to an end before he did. 

A lost part of him wanted to stay, wrap close to the warm Belmont and keep that skin beneath his hands. But if he even tried to make a move like that Trevor would probably pull a stake from his pillow. So Alucard sighed, heading towards the door with bare feet, the sound of Trevor shifting on the sheets behind him. 

“What would you like for breakfast?” The words felt like they echoed into an abyss. 

Trevor took his time responding, probably flipping through all his insults to find the perfect one. “Uh. Never got a chance at that sausage before Grant ate it all. Smelled good.” 

The vampire’s smile faced the door, hand ghosting over the knob. “Sure,” he whispered, thinking again that the more he let himself fall into a domestic routine with the people the worse it was going to hurt. Every act slowly taking days off his life, “Goodnight Trevor.” 

And he heard the Belmont gulp, “Night.” 

So more sausage he made after a fitful night of rest. That was possibly one of the worst parts of the curse, even at his most exhausted he never seemed to be able to sleep the way he needed to. The smell lured Sypha first, exchanging their pleasantries as she entered the kitchen. Cherry blond hair was fussed up at every angle, curls making themselves known. 

“It smells very good,” she offered as she sat and he murmured a thanks, pushing the sausage patty in the skillet. Fresh eggs from the chickens his father farmed in the basement with false sunlight were sitting on the counter, ready to be cracked and scrambled. He had tied his hair up, no comb able to fix the mess Trevor’s hands had tangled up the night before. Perhaps the Belmont wouldn’t mind a more exciting bath this time. 

Sypha was always the first to wake, yawning and stretching. He had already prepared a kettle for the Speaker, but didn’t lay any tea out for her as it seemed to be a challenge of hers to try every single leaf in methodical order before she left. But he’d fix up Trevor’s favorite, adding enough sugar to sedate an elephant. It was almost amusing to him, the Belmont needing a child’s style of drink but the more it weighed on his thoughts the more it hurt. Trevor had certainly grown up too quickly. 

“How are you finding the library?” the vampire asked absently.

Sypha perked up, “It’s wonderful! And extensive. It makes me wonder how much knowledge is trapped in those pages. I cannot memorize it all—it makes me think…” 

Alucard looking over his shoulder at the pensive Speaker, quirking his brow like a question mark.

“Well it just seems ridiculous now, all of the things my people have refused to write down. Not a hundred Speakers could hold all that information in their memory stores, and yet it’s all here. No worries of sudden death or dementia—the books remain whole and complete.” 

The vampire hummed quietly, flipping over the sausage, “This castle has caused many an existential crisis. They pass.” He plated a bit of sausage for her and Grant, fully expecting Trevor to not wake up for a least a few more hours. Before getting started on some eggs he set the food before her, Sypha’s eyes staring up at him inquisitively.

“You grew up here,” it was less of a statement and more of a question. 

The vampire needed to take a deep breath before answering, “I was born here.” 

_And I will die here_ , was left unsaid. 

Sypha nodded, understanding either way. Grant came in after the eggs were done and Sypha’s morracan tea was fully steeped. Dreads failed to look as slept in as his face, eyes heavy lidded. Alucard refrained from pointing out the obvious mark on his neck, only half hidden by his hair. Even if he was quite desperate to embarrass the man at every turn.

 _“You love to tease him,”_ Sypha had pointed yesterday.

He couldn’t help the shrug, _“He’ just makes it so easy.”_

The Speaker had laughed at that, no ill will hung between them. And besides, he was right. The man was of strong will and constitution, but still young and bright-eyed. Even if Alucard didn’t hate him, or even really dislike him, it was still far too much fun to poke at the little village man. They sat next to each other with a respectable distance, and Alucard didn’t mind brewing some more tea for him. Sunlight came in through the little windows, shifting across the black and white tiles on the floor. His family had shared many similar breakfasts here before, but at some point they had stopped. 

Maybe it was before Alucard decided he wanted to travel long western Europe, study the budding new architecture that was so many centuries behind his father’s. Study the _people_. And from his distance he observed them, bustling in the busy cities with no care for the business that was not their own. He quite liked that, it helped him blend when no one cared where he came from. Or who he came from for that matter. Slipping through societies like a ghost. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall the last breakfast he had with his parents. 

As if by miracle, Trevor had hauled himself out of bed, not bothering with a tunic and instead just had an open robe over his hunting trousers. Alucard rolled his eyes, phased but not surprised just as everyone seemed to be as he stumbled in. Porcupine hair poked out ungracefully and patchy stubble made him look even more tired. But he was up, perhaps that called for forgiveness in his wardrobe. 

“You look like shit,” Grant said between the bites of his toast. 

The Belmont gave him a light tap upside the head the way one might with a younger brother, “Not much better with a neck like that, strumpet.” 

Alucard bit his tongue, refusing to laugh at the quip even if he desperately wanted to. Grant seemed bleary enough not to care, and Sypha had never seemed to care about anything like that before so she remained just fine sipping her tea—snickering over the rim. And Trevor took his seat, _his seat_ , leaning back with his arms crossed and his eyes half closed. The vampire took a steady breath, still fighting off his laughter as he prepared some water for Trevor’s tea. 

The Belmont gave him a look when Alucard set his food down, expertly prepared and plated. The vampire couldn’t tell if it was a dull surprise or a tired confusion. Either way the man’s face was stoic as Alucard sat down, head of the little table. His own food before him and they sat and ate, very similar to last night’s dinner with Sypha carrying most of the conversation. 

In fact the day carried on much in that lazy fashion. Grant keeping Trevor company while he and the Speaker sifted through the library. She continued hesitant questions about his father and mother, never once asking one that may cause too much hurt. She was just curious, plain and simple. He’d answer them sparingly, never adding too much information as par his course. There wasn’t a reason the Speaker needed to know every in and out of his childhood. Hidden up there in the western wing, tucked in old bookshelves and haunting old studies. It felt routine, calming almost, and unfortunately Alucard found himself wanting to get used to this. Imagining spending days working out theorems of magic by Sypha’s side, or losing himself in the old sketchbooks of famous artists his father had collected over the years. Trevor and Grant would pop in, maybe to check if Alucard hadn’t ripped her throat out, before wandering off towards the weapons keep for entertainment. 

It was sickeningly normal, exactly what Alucard feared—of course until someone busted through his front door.


	10. The Owl and the Blood

The castle had been, and remained to be, a place for the strange to gather. For outcasts and inhuman alike. Abominable, or just lost. However Alucard never really thought that it would ever apply post it’s master’s demise. Perhaps the aura of the stone fading away in smoke just as Dracula had. However, it seemed to be that the castle was finding great joy in pissing off it’s currently cursed master, and letting any wandering idiot crash through his doors. The sound alerted him from the library, both he and Sypha jumping up. Alucard shifted space until he was at the crest of the grand staircase in an instant. It seemed that Trevor and Grant must have already been walking past—the two caught in what looked to be utter surprise at the stairs' feet.

It was a woman, dark complexion similar to Grant’s, and a tan skinned man with a startling crown of white hair. Alucard’s hand clenched the banister defensively, feeling very much invaded and equally as betrayed that the castle seemed to care so little of intruders. Obviously it must have liked something about the two—perhaps that they were already pissing Adrian off.

“Grant!” howled the woman, petite and in worker’s skirts with black hair plaited tightly back. 

“Rosaly?” Trevor and the other man exclaimed in unison. _So this was a familiar intruder,_ thought the vampire as he looked down, _delightful._

Sypha had made her way beside him, defensive shoulders falling as she laid eyes on the two, “Oh, hello Rosaly!” 

Alucard’s eyes practically rolled back into his skull, “You know these people?” It came out as far more of a hiss than he intended. 

Not that it frightened Sypha, nothing ever seemed to. She shook her head, “I know _her._ That’s Grant’s sister from the tavern.” Ah a tavern, such a warm and inviting place to get lost in the stupor of cheap drinks. He never frequented them, the smell of both the ale and the patrons a little too repulsive. Suddenly however, he found himself missing something so human. 

He still bristled, focused now on the peculiar man by her side, wrapped up in cloaks despite the warming weather. The woman ran up to Grant, embracing her brother tightly, “Jesus fuck, you’re in so much trouble.” And while the words were threatening her tone was relieved, the pair rocking in their hug for a good time. The display heartwarming to some degree, and then almost immediately painful for him. 

The woman, he could only assume her name was Rosaly based on _everyone_ exclaiming it, pulled away with fire in her eyes. “How could you run away like that?” 

Alucard pinched his stare towards Sypha, “Did you drag a man here past his curfew?” 

The Speaker rolled her eyes, watching Grant and Rosaly’s tentative reunion. The man gripping what Alucard could only guess were cold hands after the day’s trek up here. “I—I’m sorry, but I had to make sure that I didn’t leave a man up here to die.” 

Rosaly huffed, straightening out and glaring at Trevor, “Are you alive?” Sypha chuckled and Trevor nodded. “Good, let’s go before…” and her eyes finally landed on Alucard. He had never gotten a good look at her from beyond the gates when he snatched Grant up—filled with an unbridled rage seeping from the castle walls. _Those were Lisa’s flowers,_ his father’s voice ringing between his ears as if possessed by the very ghost. But she certainly must have gotten a glance at him, fear shining in eyes that her brother shared. She backed away, gripping Grant by the wrist. “You can’t keep him here, I won't let you.” 

That made the vampire chuckle, “How would you stop me?” Sypha gave him a nudge with her elbow, a little signal of her's that maybe he was being truly rude. So he cleared his throat and shifted his weight, “The man is not my prisoner—he is here of his own volition.” 

She turned, horrified by her brother, “You could have come home this whole fucking time!” Trevor whistled, taking a step back from the rage of Rosaly Danasty. Grant made a sound, trying to calm his sister down. 

“Please, I’ve been learning up here Rosie.” and it was the softest thing he’d ever heard from the village man. Well, perhaps he wasn’t so dumb after all. “Things we could never get at home, I’ve been learning to read.” 

“Read?” Rosaly seemed momentarily halted in her anger. 

Grant nodded, big smile as he gestured to Sypha, “She’s been teaching me. There's books here. A million of them, more than ma’ma could ever dream about.” 

And his sister tilted her head, “She dreams about _you._ ” It made Grant bite his lip, and Alucars could hear the guilty beat of his heart from here. There was a stillness in the room, foyer holding their breath at the tension between the siblings. 

“I know…” locs fell in front of Grant’s sorry eyes. His sister sniffled, straightening her posture and turning dark eyes to glare at Alucard. They shared something between the look that he could not identify, the woman seeming to scream with those watery eyes. _It’s all your fault_ , he thought she was saying with her fists clenched. And whether that was true or not, it didn’t stop the glare from sparking a bit of guilt in his own chest. 

Trevor interrupted the silence, gesturing to the man with silver hair, “The fuck are you then?” 

The man cleared his throat, looking up at Alucard. "I'm looking for Dracula. Is he travelling?"

Alucard's heart ceased to beat, and Rosaly stepped away from her traveling companion, "Your friend is fucking Dracula?" But the man didn't respond, pale eyes still narrowed at the vampire on the stairs. He felt knocked out of his very body by the man's question, floating miles away in his own head. The smell of blood hit his nose, echoing sound in his head, _I'm killing my boy._ Vlad Dracula Tepes, gone by his son's hand. With a stake tore from a bedframe he had built himself. Scorched upon a carpet he had sat and entertained that very son in childhood. The Vampire King, the legend of old. Silenced and gone without a trace. 

So who was this man to come looking for a ghost? 

"Dracula is not travelling." It was the only thing he could manage to stutter. If this traveller knew of Dracula, the position of his castle and his own habits—did he know who Alucard was? 

The man with silver hair and olive skin shifted his weight, "He was a friend of mine, our correspondence ended abruptly last year. Where is he?" 

Silence continued, he felt Sypha and Trevor's eyes on him. Waiting for the shoe to drop. His hand accidentally began splintering the banister, claw unconsciously extended from clenching his jaw so tight. _He_ was currently lost to the wind, a golden wedding ring stuck neatly to the floorboards of his son's bedroom. _He_ was dead. Gone. A ghost left of the lips of superstitious villagers. 

But the man in the foyer, the one who smelled of strange magic upon closer reflection, he looked worried. Genuinely concerned. His father had that about him, the ability to attract the strange. Alucard took a breath deep enough to survive the ocean. "What is your name?" 

"Hector." 

_Hector._ _Forgemaster_ Hector, his father had mentioned meeting the man at some point. Living with his undead pets. And if he knew about Hector then it was easy to think that the forgemaster knew of him. Alucard's lips were flattened in a thin line, hoping his body didn't display the thoughts spinning along in his head. Still feeling thrown incredibly out of orbit. 

"You've come a long way for some lost letters," he said dryly. 

Silver brows knitted, "You know of me?" 

"Of you, yes. Not many piebaldic forgemasters out there." Hector tensed, eyes flicking around the foyer. "Don't worry about them," Alucard gestured to the people, "no one here has any need of your skills." It might as well be time to face the dreadful music, so he canted down the steps towards the man. Handsome features, skin a contrast from silver hair. His father met many people in his travels, from what he could remember Hector was a favorite. _Reminds me of you,_ Vlad had once said. _Quiet._ And the unease was visible in this man's face. He didn't come for a fight, he came for a friend. Similar indeed. No one wanted the murder in this castle. 

"Would you mind following me, for a word?" 

Hector glared with acute suspicion, not that Alucard could blame him. "Not going to try and kill me are you?"

The vampire tilted his head, "Would I tell you if I was?" Hector's shoulders relaxed, hand still carefully held upon a hammer resting on his hip. He was at ease around vampires completely, as a friend of their king should be. "Suppose not then," but it was an easy tone, no anger harboring. Trusting, the man seemed to be as well. 

Alucard nodded, sharing a look with Trevor as he started leading Hector up the stairs to a study. The Belmont looked questioning, an expression screaming _what should I do?_ The vampire only had energy to send him a weak smile, positive that it didn't offer much reassurance. Oh well.

As he led Hector deeper into the halls the forgemaster piped up, "Who are you? Why did Dracula leave you keeper while he was away...I thought he just locked this place up when he traveled." 

Alucard knocked open the study door, chest contracting. "He _did_. There's something you must know, Hector."

Trevor watched them disappear, turning back to the people in the foyer as he cleared his throat. "Well that was fucking weird," it didn't break the tension the way he would have liked it to. Grant still giving weary glances at his infuriated sister. Sypha joined them down the stairs.

"I've never met a Forgemaster."

Rosaly gulped, "Is he. I mean is that a bad thing to be. Is he...evil?" 

Trevor's arms were crossed as he shrugged, "Depends on what you do. They're reanimators. It can mean a lot of things." But the woman didn't seem all too pleased about it nonetheless. 

She turned to her brother, "This is _Dracula's_ castle?" And Grant nodded, leaving Roslay to swear a small prayer. "But the vampire is not Dracula. Who is he?" 

"The man who killed him," Sypha answered plainly. Rosaly once again looking near to fainting. 

"Grant, please. You're staying here with _vampires,_ do you know how insane that is?" 

And the young man shuffled his feet, "Well _a_ vampire, and he's sort of...impotent anyway. Doesn't drink like that. I mean Trevor’s been here about a month and he's unscathed." 

Grant gestured a hand to the Belmont, forcing him to think back to the night previous where that vampire left a particularly noticeable mark along his hipbone. Perhaps unscathed wasn't the right word. Sure teeth had never hit him, but the toe curling pleasure had definitely thrown him for a loop. He'd slept pretty soundly after that. Fuck was he blushing? He should stop that. 

So Trevor coughed the thoughts away, "Man's not dangerous. He's sick and over protective of his flowers." 

Rosaly still glared sith apprehension, huffing and puffing. But Grant took her hand, wonder sparkling in deep hazel eyes, "Let me just show you the library, you'll love it I promise." He didn't really give his sister time to protest before he was dragging her up the stairs and into the castle, Rosaly muttering along the way. 

Sypha watched them go with a sad grin, "That forgemaster seems strange."

"Friends of Dracula usually are," Trevor huffed, making his way to the kitchen as dinnertime was right around the corner and he expected Alucard to be occupied. 

She followed, airy voice, "He was a man too, Trevor."

It made him wrinkle his nose, "A genocidal one. Almost condemned the whole fucking country, Alucard tell you that?" 

Fluffy red lips pursed, her eyes entirely forward, "He did."

"Fucking bastards in the church, can't keep their torches to themselves." Trevor threw open the refrigerator in the little kitchen, a few bowls of vegetables and some thawing fish. He didn't have much confidence in his stove working skills yet, so he pulled some of the greens. Things that should never have been harvestable this time of year and yet here they were. It may never stop surprising him—the advancement of the castle and it's amenities. Whether it be magic or Alucard's precious science. 

"So," he muttered as he chewed on a raw carrot, "you're teaching him to read?"

Sypha nodded, "It's easier. Him speaking the language his whole life, he's picked it up quickly." Trevor nodded, reading comprehension had been necessary in the Belmont family, their centuries old collection of journals down in the underground Hold. He'd only been allowed to see it once, the memory now a fever dream. He wondered if the fire could have crept down there, leaving the entire history of Belmont knowledge to ash beneath the world. When he'd decided to pick up hunting more and more, his mind often entertained the idea of going back. Figuring out a real Belmont skillset. Maybe then he could have gotten the upper hand on Alucard in the first place. 

Of course then, the man would have died alone. Maybe it was the bouts of passion they'd shared, but the thought of it hurt Trevor far more than he expected. Dammit. 

"'S good," he muttered with carrot between his teeth. "Think he's going to go back with his sister?" 

Sypha's face pinched in thought, "Probably. Then I—well I would be split." Trevor tilted his head in question, the Speaker explaining, "I miss my family. Terribly. I've never been on my own. But this," her head gestured to the castle itself, "When will I ever get this again? And then you two would be all alone again."

It had been nice, having more people to wander the halls with. And he'd be lying if he said that he wouldn't miss them when they're gone. Or would he miss just being able to leave? "Don't worry about me," he grunted instead, "Grown ass man, I can handle a geriatric vampire."

The laugh she gave was sad, "He is _more_ than that." Leaving Trevor to hang his head in thought. 

Thoughts about the night he found Alucard out on the balcony, too tired to sleep. Or maybe too haunted. He thought about the annoying jabs the vampire could toss to poss Trevor off as much as he did to Alucard. And even as they kissed he seemed sad. There was a familiarity with the ghosts floating in Alucard's eyes that Trevor understood completely. His own family burning in the back of his mind day and night. Alcohol could douse the fire but it always surged back. Alucard was much more that just sick—he was suicidal. 

He stared at the grain of the wood from the table, traveling the lines with his eyes, "Yeah. He is."

Hector's eyes were focused on the fire, lost within it. Alucard stood away. Arms over his chest, holding back the painful waves that had come forth as they had spoken. The forgemaster looked dazed, lost perhaps. Traveling all the way to check in on a dear friend—and he was dead. Murdered. What worse news could he have received. The man _did_ know of him, shock blooming across his face at the realization that Dracula's own son was speaking to him. 

"The loss of your mother," Hector whispered quietly, "I am so sorry." 

Lucky to be in the shadows, the lone tear breaking formation to roll down his cheek was hidden. "Thank you." But it didn't mean much, condolences didn't bring her back. Nothing ever would. Maybe he'd see her again in a year, and she'd not hate him. He had to hope she wouldn't hate him. 

The other man cleared his throat, "A year then?" Alucard nodded, "Then I fear I must warn you." 

Alucard raised a brow, "Of?"

Hector stared back at the fire, "It was whispers. Rumors at first, I didn't believe them, how could I know that he was...gone. But vampires were seeking out forgers. Talks of reclaiming Wallachia."

Alucard straightened up, holding his breath.

"There is one, from the north—Styria—she sent a few vanguard soldiers, to convince or kill me.” Silver hair hung over his head as he bowed his head towards the fire, “Got to them first. _That’s_ why I came looking for Dracula. Why I was so worried that he’d stopped responding. Alucard, there is a war on the horizon.” 

A fired billowed in his chest, flamed by fear of all out genocide in his mother’s country. Vampires do not take prisoners, they do not reason for anything other than thirst. All they ever craved was the next meal, barely long enough to retain logic. If a war came to Wallachia, there was no doubt in his mind that the country itself would die. And if they got their hands on the castle—and every disturbing machine of death concocted within it—it would mean a near end to the human race from here to Prague. It was the same premonition that he killed his father over, knowing without a doubt that it would be a bloodbath. The reason he’d been damned himself and yet...yet in the face of upholding what he had sacrificed everything for Alucard couldn’t find the energy to care. 

Eyelashes to ankles, he was numb. 

Numb to the future and all that was in it. He’d fought so hard and this was all he could have ever done. This was the end of his line. No more fighting, no more clawing for tomorrow. There was another savior out there that could find their chance to lose it all. His battle long over. There was nothing much to do but mourn. 

The blond let out the breath he been holding, “Styria, you speak of Carmilla.” Hector nodded. Alucard peeled himself from the wall, ambling closer towards the fireplace, “She’s made it clear for a while her distaste of my father’s behaviors as Lord. Not much of a surprise—has she begun a march?” 

Silver hair shook, “I approached from the south, I wouldn’t have seen. I don’t think it’s been long enough to gather that much of an army—Styria’s small.” 

Alucard gave a silent nod, conversation falling between the crackling of the firewood. He was resting an arm on the mantle, staring down at orange rage. Fire was a necessary evil. The world needed it—for heat and for survival. He couldn’t live in fear of something so vital. Sometimes the fear turned into fascination, and he dared reach close enough to catch a spark. Out of pure curiosity. 

“You take my word for my identity,” he muttered quietly to the fire. “Couldn’t I have been one of Carmilla’s men holding place till she arrived?” 

Hector laughed, a morbid one but it seemed to be his only reaction to dark realities. Chuckle them away. Obviously one familiar with more macabre things, by choice or perhaps by fate. “No, I believe you. He spoke of you two a bit when we met. Said you were quiet—an observant person.” With golden eyes trained on the fire he didn’t see the forgemaster study his features, “And you look alike. In the brow I think.” 

Alucard twitched a lip towards the flame, “My mother said that as well.” 

“She sounded like an amazing woman,” tread Hector lightly. 

“She was…” And the flames that danced across the wood, crackling behind the grate, were the same ones that licked her skin. Same heat that gobbled her up at a snail's pace as some sort of theatre show for the masses. “I was countries away when I felt her die.” 

Hector wrung his hands nervously, “And you knew what he was going to do?” 

Memories of drawn out sketches, inked centuries before in blood across old parchment. Flying machines meant to destroy the sun, cattle pens for humans. Creations of hell and heaven. The end. “I didn’t come here intending to kill him—but he was so far gone as it was.” 

Hector was still mourning a friend, as odd as it felt to attribute the word friend to Vlad Tepes, and he may have been the only of Hector’s. The world not kind to those who are different, kinder less to the ones who do not hide it. So Alucard didn’t fault the forgemaster for his questions. He missed him too.

“Would you follow me?” 

The man looked perplexed for a moment, before giving a small nod. Alucard took him around to the back of the castle, outside the greenhouse and into a loosely patched garden his mother hadn’t cared much for. All the important plants were behind the glass. But out there were two headstones, taken from the rubble of the castle after the fight. He engraved, with his own nail, the names of his mother and father. No titles. No death dates. Crude portraits of them that his mother had used to love so much. Carried one of Vlad in her locket at all times. 

There were of course no bodies to bury, but he placed careful flower clippings of lilies or roses atop the false graves nonetheless. For his own sake. For his own closure. He’d come and visit and pretend they could hear him. The conversations he had with these tombstones before Trevor had arrived were plenty. Falling sun painting the world lavender as it introduced dusk. Wind whipped with a passion but Alucard barely noticed, eyes stuck on the engraved curve of his mother’s eyes and how he should have done them much better. Hector had his coat pulled tighter, suspicion now confirmed that cold weather was not his forte. 

“He was your friend,” Alucard whispered into the wind, “you deserve to say goodbye.” 

The man’s eyes were so pale, the purple sky reflected in a way that made them look their very own shade of lilac. And they spoke of something, something Alucard couldn’t tell. “This is...very kind. Thank you.” 

Alucard nodded, heading to leave, “You may stay. As long as you like, you’ve traveled for so long for such bad news.” The forgemaster gave a quiet nod, and he left the man in the wind by the stones. Gave him time for his own farewells. Alucard sure had those in abundance. As he entered the castle his thoughts wandered to what the human’s were up to, Trevor probably grumpy at the late dinner. But he didn’t really feel like cooking, as happy as it usually made him. Belmont was just going to have to suffer.

Speaking of the man, he caught him in a hall, both seeming surprised at the encounter. But the broader man shrugged it off, falling into step with Alucard, "So what's the Forgemaster about?"

“Exactly what he told us—a friend of Dracula’s.” 

Trevor crinkled his features, like the very idea smelled bad, “Friends with Dracula, what hell that must have been. How does a creature like that even get friends?” 

Alucard gave a small chuckle, “Same way you do, I can only imagine.” A solid Belmont eye roll at that one.

“You said you had intimate knowledge of the castle and him,” Trevor spoke slowly. “Were you a friend too?” 

Alucard’s eyes were in the distance as they walked, hands in the pocket of his coat, “We were...close.” _Never friends._ But that wasn’t something he was willing to disclose just yet. It still hurt knowing that Sypha had discovered his little secret—he couldn’t imagine what letting it loose on the Belmont would do. For now, his parents would be a secret he held close to his chest, one of the few things he had left. 

“Oh I see,” grumbled an amused Trevor, “we’re back to the cryptic shit. Fuck you too, goldilocks.” 

They passed by an incongruous pile of stone rubble from the fight a year prior, Trevor kicking a chunk from his path. Maybe one day he’d get around to fixing all up, or leave that responsibility to the Belmont. Not like the man really would care, he fully expected Trevor to leave this place far behind him. But, with a hopeful thought, the power within these walls would be safe with him.

“How fair the Danastys—Grant been filleted by sister dearest yet?” 

The Belmont shrugged, “There’s a been a probationary peace in the library so far, no filleting unfortunately.” 

Alucard hummed, taking a turn away from the library instead, Trevor looking at him strangely. The vampire gestured towards the forking hall, “Wander with me, Belmont?” It was a simple, unassuming question. Yet still strange based on their normal conversations. No snarls or crude jokes thrown. A soft question, _don't leave me alone?_ The man didn’t argue, or make any sharp comments unlike his usual attitude. Alucard wasn’t particularly sure where his feet were taking him, or where they were leading the Belmont. They just walked, footsteps softened by old carpets. He was in an odd mood, wondering where his usual self-awareness had floated off too. Maybe that’s where he was going, trying to find a sense of himself again. Lost somewhere in the castle. Hector’s arrival had drawn something out from beneath his bones, tore open the scar upon his chest. Memories of his father stained by fresh blood. 

There had once been love in his derelict place. Between a family. Husband, wife and child. Decades ago. Buried beneath layers of dust, kicked up in the fight and now settled back down. Maybe there were still ghosts of that love, hiding between the mortar. His fingers brushed along it, tracing the lines between stones. Echos of a good man who had once built them. And the monster he became. Trevor walked along his side quietly, eyes trailing over the cobwebs floating around the ceiling. 

“Hey,” he grumbled at an open door, an old dance room with his mother’s birthday piano—engineered to play altered pieces from Thomas Feri, or Clement Liebert. Alucard narrowed his eyes, Trevor wandering towards the instrument. “This thing always moves around.” 

Alucard hung in the doorway, the pastel piano a little splotch of sunshine in the castle. The Belmont ran a finger over the dusty cover, it’s rickety keys on a particularly slow piece at the moment. Filling the room with a quiet tune, wafting around with a fading light coming through sheet covered windows. “Perhaps it just doesn't like you,” suggested the vampire towards Trevor, no effort to sharpen his words.

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Trevor sat himself on the bench, fascinated by the mechanical movement of the keys. Alucard hummed, coming over to inspect the instrument long forgotten. His mother loved music, and Alucard had once as well—both his parents understanding off all it’s ins and outs while he could only appreciate the end result. Never understood sheet music or anything as such. It was, however, beautiful. In a haunting way. Empty room. A piano playing for no one. 

It’s audience dead. 

Trevor hit one of the keys experimentally, creating an interruption in the melody much like how Trevor did for anything soft. Came in whip outstretched and sword drawn, daring the music to hit back. He didn’t seem satisfied with one intrusive note, and hit another key at the other end. The loud sound made a piercing shiver run up his spine. “Take a moment, _maestro_ , you may give the bards a headache.” 

The Belmont huffed, hitting another note, “I always thought Dracula would have organs.” Alucard peaked a brow, “The music kind, but also the fleshy ones I guess.”

The vampire took a seat by the Belmont, fate laughing at them from some cosmic corner, gaze out of focus at the moving keys. He had sat here ten years before, at his parents’ side. Now where were they? _I hope they’re together,_ he couldn’t help but express to himself. Pain rippling behind his ribs. 

“Would you like to hear a story, Belmont?” 

The man chuckled, another hit of a jarring key, “Sure. I like stories.” 

Alucard sighed, pressing a lighter note for himself, “Once a time ago, there lived alone a man with a heart of stone.” Even his more delicate keys managed to sound just as disruptive as the angrier ones Trevor had been hitting. “Gathered his glory and fame and locked himself away to the countryside, never wanting to be seen again. Became a figment in the minds of the country—until, a woman sought out the myth. Desired the ancient knowledge he was rumored to have.” 

_“You’d have thought no one had ever knocked on his door before,”_ joked his mother once, a long long time ago. 

“She was a fearless woman, even in the face of a man believed to be a murderer.” 

_“Apparently my old fashioned manners were not fit enough for your modern mother.”_

Alucard smiled, remembering how they had told him this very story back and forth on this piano bench. “He was so surprised by her courage and audacity that he agreed to teach this young village woman. Took her under his wing. While he taught her to be a scholar, she slowly began to teach him—about humanity in the world he had shunned. How times had changed.” 

_“Most stubborn man I’d ever met.”_

_“Most stubborn woman I had ever met, as well.”_

“An icy heart began to melt for the fearless woman—but he had fears of his own. Who could love a man of stone?” 

Trevor interjected, “Is this metaphorical stone or was he cursed by a cyclops or something?” 

“Please,” huffed Alucard, “it’s metaphorical.” Although there was an annoying hint of a smile behind his words, one he hoped the Belmont didn’t perceive. The vampire cleared his throat, eyes at the piano, “For who could love a man of stone? So day and night he hid his growing affection, worried that she would leave his tutelage.” 

_“Your father couldn’t take a hint if I had thrown it in his very face.”_

_“Forgive me for being respectful.”_

_“Pfft, I believe you mean ‘obtuse.’”_

“He grew so worried in fact,” smiled Alucard, “that she had begun to fear for the first time. Fear she was a terrible student.” To his surprise, Trevor huffed at that, engaged in the story. If only he knew what it was truly about. “What he couldn’t see through his own doubts—was that she had fallen for him months before, waiting for him to notice her adoration."

Trevor himself smiled at that, in the lopsided way he always did. 

"What the man could not fathom, was that a gentle-hearted woman could fall for someone with a past as dark as he. But she loved him nonetheless. Monster or legend or man. She loved him till her dying breath...and he loved her till his. A man of stone, gifted humanity." 

He pressed a final, flat note that echoed in the room. Vlad loved him too, in that dying breath. Would Trevor ever believe him if Alucard told that part of the story? The Belmont busied himself with a hanging thread of the vampire's hair, Alucard narrowed golden eyes. 

"I like those kinds of stories," clipped the Belmont, twirling platinum between his fingers like they were lovers. Were they? Not really. Though it would be a lie if he said the foreign touch wasn't comforting. 

"Which ones?" Alucard asked quietly, observing the Belmont as he focused blue eyes on the curl he held. Oblivious to the confusion on the vampire's face. 

Trevor shrugged, "The ones where the beast gets the girl." Light piano notes drifting between them. 

He couldn't help but find some ironic amusement in that. "Oh do you?" 

And the man nodded, dropping Alucard's hair, "Been compared to a fucking bear enough times to start sympathizing." Alucard couldn't help but agree, offering a shrug. 

"Fair arguments can be made," earned him a scowl and Trevor reaching over to flick the curl at his forehead.

Alucard recoiled, the Belmont huffing, "Not everyone's got fucking artwork for hair." But he was still recovering because...Trevor had just fucking flicked his curl. What cruel and unusual punishments was this man into? It wasn’t threatening, and it wasn’t funny it was just... _flirtatious maybe?_ Based on the look of satisfaction Trevor was currently wearing from rendering Alucard speechless. What an absolute bastard, this Belmont was. 

Forcing himself to regain a bit of composure, Alucard cleared his throat, “Perhaps a bath might fix your tragedy of a style then.” 

Trevor twisted his face in a smug grin, “I could go for a bath.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, FYI pianos super didn't exist in 1476 but I didn't know that when I wrote it in a while back so I hope you guys are okay with that little inaccuracy because at this point it's my little plot piano.  
> Also Hector! My baby! I love him to bits even when he makes very bad decisions


End file.
